The Zimventures 3: The Greatest Western Crossover in History!
by tusitalabruni
Summary: Cris Zim thought he was looking forward to a relaxing life when he is accidentally sent back in time to the Wild West, where he is mistaken for his ancestor who is wanted for murder! Gunsmoke, Have Gun Will Travel, Wanted Dead or Alive, Maverick, Rawhide! They're all coming together with a healthy dose of Back to the Future, I Come in Peace, Quantum Leap, Zardoz and Sunny/Philly!
1. Prologue

The Zimventures #3

The Greatest Western Crossover in History!

Prologue

Zim, Do Not Fuck with This Thing!

When Fitz returned from the future he was not allowed to bring many things. But considering the danger he—and the world—had been in, Doc Brown left him with a device. It looked slightly like a flask. If any time-tamperers were to come after Fitz to put the future back on its dark and destructive path, he was to press the button on top of the device. He would be whisked away to another time where he would be able to rendezvous with Doc Brown.

At first Fitz decided to keep it on him at all times, but it got to be cumbersome after a while. He considered putting it in the living room for easy access, but he didn't want Zim to stumble on it accidentally. Instead he put it in his bedroom next to his gun and his _Have Gun, Will Travel_ business card.

Despite this, one day he found Zim in his room, rummaging around. Sure enough, the fool was holding the time travel device.

"Nice flask," Zim said.

Fitz leaped over his bed and snatched the device from Zim's clumsy hands. "It's not a flask. In fact, don't ever touch this again."

"What? I was just admiring it."

"This is a very dangerous tool. Zim, DO NOT FUCK WITH THIS THING. If you need a flask, use my _Boondock Saints_ flask."

"Fine."

"Besides, what are you doing here?" Fitz asked. "Didn't you just get a new job? Shouldn't you be going to work?"

"I got plenty of time," Zim said. And he did, for a change.

The two went their separate ways for the day, and the matter of the device was swiftly forgotten.

One week later Zim was feeling his oats. Though he'd spent most of his week either working or sulking—another girl had recently shot him down, this time in his apartment, no less. He'd managed to get her back to his place, but his drunken foolishness and puking turned her off. The next day he learned via Facebook that she'd just gotten engaged. It sent him into a downward spiral, but rather than sulk the whole time, he decided to take Fitz's advice. He was going to go out drinking.

Normally he only hit the bars with Fitz, but his roommate was currently out at the newly restored Tailgators with Brandon, and he was damned if he was going to that hellhole, especially after last time. No, he was going to go to a completely different bar this time, a place where he was unlikely to run into anyone he knew. But he needed a flask. Bar booze was too expensive.

Fitz usually kept his _Boondock Saints_ flask by the alcohol bottles on the shelf in the living room, but when Zim investigated he noticed it was gone. Fitz had to have taken it with him to Tailgators. Just when Zim was about to curse himself he remembered that his friend had another flask, one that he kept by his gun. He rushed into Fitz's bedroom and picked up the flask. Then he remembered that he didn't have any booze to put in it. Had he really forgotten to go shopping for whiskey? This was unheard of.

Didn't Fitz have some Johnnie Walker Blue around here somewhere? He was about to start looking when he saw there was something strange about the cap on the flask. It looked more like a button. He thought maybe it was some kind of newfangled spring lock, so he pushed the button, thinking the cap was going to pop up and open.

Instead the world whooshed around him, swirling violently as everything he thought was real slipped away into a vortex of colors. There was a sensation of falling as his stomach tried to push its way out of his throat. Then something connected with his feet, and he collapsed to his knees. The world was bright—too bright—and the stink of dust was stuck in his throat.

Another scent overcame this first one: shit. Thick, fruity shit. When he looked down he noticed that he was kneeling in a giant pile of horseshit.

He gagged, puking onto the filth he already knelt in. He saw that he'd also managed to puke on himself. He screamed, "Why?! Why can't I ever catch a fucking break?!"

Someone guffawed. "Look at the 'tard flailin' in horseshit!"

Zim pushed himself to his feet, careful not to get his sneakers dirty. "Fuck you," he muttered. He didn't speak louder because he feared any kind of confrontation. Instead he cast his gaze around to find that he was no longer in Lisle; he stood in the middle of a dirt street with a row of old fashioned buildings all around him. Horses rode through the shoddy streets, and tumbleweeds crawled their way through the town. There was a door in front of him, and above it was a sign: DODGE HOUSE.

"Shit! I'm in Deadwood!" He assumed this because _Deadwood_ was the only experience he had with the Wild West. He only knew this because of Fitz.

"You ain't in Deadwood, 'tard," an old man in a rocking chair said. He whittled at a hunk of wood. Nothing clear yet. "You're in Dodge City, Kansas."

Zim's stomach folded in on itself. What was it that Sam Beckett always said when he leaped into his new situation on _Quantum Leap_? "Oh fuck!" Zim cried. He knew there was no way in hell he was going to make it in to work on time tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

THERE A CIRCUS IN TOWN?

Zim stood in the middle of the street, wondering how he was going to clean up, when he remembered about the device. He looked down at his hands to see that he was still holding it. Without a second thought he jabbed his thumb down on the button and waited to be taken back to his own time.

Nothing.

He hit the button again only to be rewarded with the same result.

"Dammit!" He hurled the device away, where it bounced against a wall and fell under the wheels of a stagecoach. All that remained was a bent piece of metal.

He noticed a water trough. Good. Time to wash this shit off of him. He sauntered over to it and saw that the inside was bone dry. With a tremendous sigh he moved to the pump and started jerking the handle up and down. After about a half-minute of effort, nothing came out. His muscles started aching as he pumped away to no avail.

"Fuck!" he roared. "What's wrong with this thing?!"

"Ya gotta prime it, 'tard," the old man said. He didn't even look up from his whittling.

Zim squinted his eyes, looking at the pump. "How do I do that?"

"Get 'er wet first. That's good advice for any young man, y'know."

"Ha," Zim said dryly. He saw once again that the trough was empty. There was a tin cup next to the handle, but it was also empty. "How do I get it wet with no water?"

The old man put down the wood and knife and ambled over to Zim. He gargled phlegm for a moment before hocking an impressive loogie on the pump. "That should do the trick, son."

"That's gross," Zim said.

The old man went back to his hobby, ignoring Zim.

Zim pumped, and the loogie got sucked into the machine. Before long water poured out of the spout, and floating on top of it all was the green hunk of whatever was rotting inside the old man's lungs. Still, beggars could not be choosers. Zim took off his shoes and socks, and then he knelt in the trough to scrub the shit away from his pants.

When he was done he sat on the rim of the trough and put his socks and shoes back on. It was so hot out that by the time he stood, his pants were almost dried. He touched the cloth and then raised his fingers to his nose. The stink was more like wet jeans than shit, which suited him fine.

It was then that he noticed the batwing doors of a place called the Longbranch Saloon, but more importantly the sign next to them which read, "Good Whisky 5-cents."

Zim checked his pockets to find a bunch of change, not to mention about a hundred dollars in paper money. That was a lot of booze. He licked his lips and headed for the bar.

He pushed through the batwing doors and let them flap against each other behind him. Every face turned toward him, but Zim ignored everyone as he sauntered up to the counter. The bartender watched his approach with a wide look in his eyes. He put down the glass he was polishing and waited for the stranger's order.

Zim fished in his pocket until he came up with a nickel. He slapped it on the bar. "I'll have a whiskey."

The bartender looked at the coin on the counter and shook his head. "What kinda money is that? Kiddie money?"

"It's a perfectly good nickel," Zim said.

"Not like any nickel I ever saw," the bartender said. He picked it up and tested it on his teeth. "Don't taste like nickel, either."

"There a circus in town?" one of the customers asked. "Them's some weird clothes, son. You a clown?"

Zim looked down at his t-shirt and jeans. "They're just clothes."

The customer pointed at the sleeve of tats. "I ain't never seen body paint like that outside of a sideshow. Where's yer fella freaks?"

"I'm not a freak," Zim said. "I just want some cheap whiskey."

Another customer laughed. "You call this whiskey cheap? Five cents is a lot, friend."

"Look," Zim said, "I'm not a clown or a freak or anything. There is no circus in town. Can I please just get a shot of whiskey? I've had a rough day."

The joviality seemed to run out of the room. The bartender, his face now grave, turned to one of the customers. "Chester, I think you'd better go get the marshal."

The customer, a tall, skinny guy with a bum leg, nodded and made for the batwing doors. "Mister Dillon!" he shouted.

Zim sighed and dug into his wallet. "Here, have a dollar. I just want something to drink, okay?"

The bartender looked askance at the bill. "Now I _know_ it's kiddie money. That paper's too small, son."

It was only then that Zim realized that his money was no good here. It couldn't be. How could he spend money minted in 2005 back in . . . when was he? Sometime in the 1870's? Now he really _was_ fucked. What was he going to do, get a job back in the Wild West? Was this really where he was going to spend the rest of his life?

The batwing doors burst open, and a very tall, sturdy man walked in, hands swinging at his sides. He wore a red shirt and a pale vest. Under the vest Zim could see a marshal's badge.

"Great," Zim said. He rolled his eyes.

"You're new in town," the marshal said. "The name's Matt Dillon. I'm the marshal. What's your name?"

"Zim."

"That what folks call you?" Matt asked.

"My name's Cris Zim."

"Doesn't sound right to me, Marshal," the bartender said. "Sounds made up."

Matt ignored the bartender. "You're dressed kind of strange, Mr. Zim. Where'd you get those clothes?"

"I don't know. I've had them for a while."

"Chester here tells me that you tried to pass counterfeit money in here," Matt said.

"That's bullshit," Zim said. "I . . ." He trailed off mostly because he had no idea as to how to defend himself.

"Here's the coin, Marshal." The bartender flipped it in the air, and Matt caught it. He examined it closely.

"Goddammit," Zim said.

"1978," Matt said. "That's about a hundred years from now. And it's nothing like any nickel I've ever seen. How'd you make this?"

"I didn't," Zim said. "I'm . . . I . . . I'm from the future."

The barroom broke out into laughter, but Matt remained calm. "That's not possible, Mr. Zim. Perhaps a night in jail will jog your memory."

"What? No! I can't go to jail! I have—" He was about to say that he had work tomorrow, but then he remembered that he was lost in time. Instead he sighed.

Matt's hand fell to the butt of his gun. "I'm not kidding, mister. Now move it."

Zim sighed again. Head hanging low he started toward the batwing doors. Once he was outside, the marshal pointed the way to jail. As they crossed the street, someone shouted. "ZIM!"

Zim, surprised to hear his name uttered in this distant time, turned to see a middle-sized man with blond hair pulling a mare's leg-style rifle from a holster on his hip. The barrel was aimed at Zim's chest. "I finally caught you. Now, I'm not letting you go."

"Hold it," Matt said. "This man is my prisoner. Who are you?"

"Name's Josh Randall, and this fella's wanted for murder. Wanted dead or alive."

"Oh fuck!" Zim cried. "What now?!"


	3. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

DA-DA-DA-DAAAAAA!

Marshal Dillon held tightly to Zim's arm. "We'll just have to settle this in the jail, Mr. Randall. Follow me."

Josh reholstered the mare's leg and followed Dillon as he dragged Zim off to the jail. Chester was already there, holding the door open. They stopped at Dillon's desk, where the marshal said, "Empty your pockets, mister."

Zim realized that there were quite a few things in his pockets that the officer might not understand, so he shook his head. "I can't do that. It's my stuff, and—"

"You'll get it back," Matt said. "If you're not going to be hanged, that is."

Zim gulped at the mention of his possible death. When he'd joined forces with Team Angel he'd faced death plenty of times, but this was somehow different. Somehow this seemed more real. With a sigh he dug into his pockets and started dumping out the contents on the scarred wooden desk.

The marshal grabbed his wallet and started picking through it. First he pulled out the cash. "Yep, it's funny money, all right. I recognize George Washington and Abe Lincoln, but it's fake nonetheless."

"You'll be doing time for at least that," Josh said. He pulled back his hat, smoothed down his short hair, and put the hat back on so the brim hung just over his eyes.

Matt picked up the loose change and examined the dime. "Who the heck is this?" he muttered.

Josh took a look at it, his eyes squinted. "Never seen him before."

Matt shrugged and dropped the change with the paper money into a sack. "For evidence," he said. He then examined the rest of Zim's wallet. He pulled out the driver's license and lifted an eyebrow. "That's quite the likeness, mister. It looks like a daguerreotype, but the picture is too clear. And in color. I've never seen anything like it."

Josh looked over Matt's shoulder. "That sure is something. Where'd you get this, Zim?"

"The DMV," Zim said. "Where else?"

"The DMV," Matt said. "What is that, some kind of criminal syndicate?"

"The Department of Motor Vehicles. Don't you people know anything?"

"Motor vehicles?" Josh asked. "Steam ships?"

"No! Automobiles! Cars!" Zim was about to continue when he remembered when he was, and he pursed his lips before he got himself into further trouble.

Matt shrugged and put it in the evidence sack. Next up were the receipts from Jimmy Johns and Jewel. The marshal puzzled over these, trying to decipher the abbreviations for the products Zim had bought. When he was done, he put them back in his wallet. There was nothing else, so he dropped the wallet into his desk drawer. There was some lint on the desk, so he palmed it away to the floor.

"This is just too weird," Josh said. "I've never seen stuff like that before. What do you make of it, Marshal?"

"Too soon to tell. Let's see that wanted poster."

Josh took off his hat and reached inside to pull out a folded piece of paper. He spread it out on the desk and stepped back so Matt and Zim could see it. The top read, "WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE." There was then an artist's rendering of the perpetrator, which appeared surprisingly like Zim. There were only two differences: a thin beard and hair long enough to reach down to the shoulders. Aside from these two things, the other Zim could have been his twin. Below the picture was the name CRIS ZIM. At the very bottom it said, "Three counts of murder, extremely dangerous. $2,000."

"Jesus," Zim said. "That guy looks scary."

Josh grimaced. "Nice try. You shaved and got a haircut. I know who you are, Zim. I guess I was just a little too late." He looked over to Matt with a sad smile on his face. "I guess I'll be on my way, Marshal."

"Not so fast, Mr. Randall," Matt said. "If he turns out to be this Cris Zim, I'll need more information. You can get a room at the Dodge House while I do a little checking. Chester, take Zim to a cell."

Chester opened the back door of the office, which led to the jail cells. "Come on, Zim. You et anything today?"

"Et?" Zim asked.

"Food," Chester said. "You hungry?"

Zim sighed. "I guess."

"I'll get you some grub from Delmonico's." Chester led the way to the cells.

Just before they crossed the threshold, the door to the marshal's office opened, and a man dressed entirely in black stepped in. He looked grim, and he had a thick mustache on his upper lip. The shirt looked like silk, and there was a chess piece on his holster.

"Are you the marshal?" he asked Chester.

"I'm Matt Dillon," Matt said. "Can I help you, mister?"

"I hope so. I'm told you have Cris Zim in your jail."

"What's it to you, mister?" Matt asked.

"I've been hired by his brother to protect him from lynching before his trial," the man in black said.

"And who might you be?"

The man in black reached under the front of his holster and pulled out a business card, which he handed over to the marshal. Zim caught a glimpse of it, and he'd hung around Fitz long enough to recognize what it said, even though he couldn't read it from this distance.

"HAVE GUN—WILL TRAVEL, WIRE PALADIN, SAN FRANCISCO."

"Oh fuck," Zim said.


	4. Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

A MEETING AT THE CARLETON

Marshal Dillon grunted a laugh as he flicked Paladin's card against the palm of his hand. "A gunfighter, huh?"

"I can handle a gun," Paladin said.

Matt handed the card back. "We don't really cotton to your kind around here. In fact, we don't like trouble at all. I recommend that you get out of Dodge."

"'Recommend?'" Paladin asked.

"Well, I can't kick you out. Yet. But as soon as you cause any trouble . . ."

"I appreciate your honesty, Marshal. But I do have a job to do. Is this Mr. Zim?" Paladin gestured to Zim.

"That's him, all right," Matt said.

"And he's under arrest?"

"You bet. For passing counterfeit money, and Josh Randall here says he's a murderer. The poster looks legitimate."

Paladin picked it up off the marshal's desk and nodded. "Oh yes. It is. I saw one just like it in San Francisco a few days ago."

Matt put a foot up on his chair and leaned on his thigh. "Maybe you should explain yourself, Mr. Paladin."

Zim nodded. "I'd love to hear this."

Paladin said:

 _I was preparing for an evening at the San Francisco Opera House. I heard they had an excellent version of Verdi's_ Don Carlos _, and I was anticipating enjoying it immensely, as well as an elegant dinner with Lady Jasmine, whom I had been courting for a couple of weeks while she was on vacation from New Orleans. I had just dressed in my frilly accoutrements and was adjusting my top hat when a knock came at my door. I said to enter, and the Hotel Carleton's porter, Hey Boy, came in._

" _You have visitor, Mr. Paladin," he said._

" _Tell Lady Jasmine that I will be in the lobby momentarily," I said._

" _It's not the Lady," Hey Boy said._

" _Oh?"_

" _Mr. Zim from Florida."_

" _Zim. I don't think I've heard of him."_

" _He say he has a business proposition for you."_

" _I see. In that case please convey my disinterest in him."_

 _It was a chilly night, so I poured myself a brandy to help fortify against the cold. As I took a dainty sip, I noticed that Hey Boy had not moved. I lifted an eyebrow and waited._

" _He say he pay you a thousand dollars just to listen to him," Hey Boy said._

 _I sucked a cheek and nodded slowly. I then reached into my coat and removed two opera tickets from my pocket. I handed them to Hey Boy. "Please give these to Lady Jasmine with my regrets, and show Mr. Zim in."_

" _Yes, Mr. Paladin."_

 _Shortly, a dopey looking, gruff man walked in. He was dressed in shabby clothing, and I had every doubt that he had the thousand dollars. He paused when he saw me. "I'm sorry, I think I have the wrong room."_

" _Mr. Zim?" I asked. When he nodded, I introduced myself._

" _That can't be," he said. "I'm looking for this guy." He handed me my business card, and I assured him that he was in the right place._

" _What can I do for you?" I asked._

 _He went to the bottle of brandy and poured himself a snifter all the way to the top. He gulped it down and filled it up again. "Sorry. It's been ten minutes since I last had a drink. Too long." I waited for him to settle in. Then: "I'm Geoff Zim, and I have a job for you. Take a look."_

 _He handed me a wanted poster of a man named Cris Zim. Usually when prospective clients do this, they want me to hunt down the gentleman in question, usually for personal reasons. "I'm not a bounty hunger, Mr. Zim."_

" _I know. I need you to find my brother and protect him."_

" _In that case, I will take the thousand dollars and send you on your way. I don't interfere with the law like this." I handed the poster back to him._

" _You don't understand. I'm not hiring you to protect him from the law. I want you to save him from lynch mobs. He didn't kill those people down in Texas, but a lot of folks think he did. Powerful folks. I know that if he gets his trial, he won't be found guilty. He just needs to survive until then."_

 _I nodded. This is more along the lines of what I do. "My price is two thousand dollars."_

 _Geoff Zim slurped down the rest of my brandy and lit a cigar. "Money is no obstacle. Just keep my brother alive, all right?"_

 _When I asked where Cris Zim had last been seen, he told me Kansas, headed for Dodge City. So here I am._

Marshal Dillon looked to Josh, and the both of them nodded. Zim, who was trying to figure out how his brother had traveled back in time (and had thousands of dollars, no less), stood by the door to the cell, flabbergasted. Chester had the same blank look on his face as they watched Paladin tell his tale.

"Well," Matt said, "I think you'll find the jail here is pretty sturdy. You can leave the protection to me and Chester here. Murder's more important than counterfeiting, so I'll be telegraphing the marshal down in Dallas. When he gets up here, I'll turn Zim over to him to escort him to his trial. If you want to accompany him there, that's your business."

Paladin moved his hat back so that some of his hair showed under the brim. "That's not good enough, Marshal. If you have no objection, I'll take up residence in the back, where I can keep an eye on him."

Matt pointed a finger at Paladin. "Look, mister. Dodge is a town full of good citizens. There won't be any lynchings here."

"You have a lot more faith in human nature than I do," Paladin said. "There are a lot of angry Texans out for Zim's blood, and I hear there's a cattle drive approaching on the Sedalia Trail. Most of them are Texans."

Matt took off his hat and scratched his head. "Well, you've got a point there. Fine. You can keep watch after him, but I'm not deputizing you."

"I'm not asking you to."

The door suddenly opened, and another man dressed in black entered. This one, however, was dressed a bit more foppishly, and he had gambler written all over him. "Excuse me, which one of you gentlemen is the marshal?"

"I'm Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal."

"Hi, my name's Bret Maverick, and I hear there's a hefty bounty on Cris Zim's head?"

"Two thousand," Zim said.

"Good. I have him tied up outside this office."

"But we have him in here," Josh said. He nodded to Zim.

"Hi," Zim said.

"Well, I can see the likeness," Maverick said, "but this one looks a lot more like the wanted poster. Care to have a gander?"

Everyone filed out of the office after Maverick, and Zim was shocked to see there actually was someone on the boardwalk, trussed head to foot in rope. A pair of boots poked out of one end, and a face from the other. Zim gasped when he saw he was looking into his own face. The hair was longer, and there was a beard, but it was him, regardless.

"Oh fuck," Zim whispered.


	5. Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

TWO IN THE BUSH, ONE IN THE HAND

It took a moment for the marshal and Josh Randall to cut through Other Zim's bonds, and when he was free they escorted the two Zims to separate cells.

"Come on!" Zim cried. "You can't lock me up! You have the real guy over there! You don't need me!"

"Something strange is going on here," Matt said, "and I'm going to get to the bottom of it. Chester, get Doc. I want him to examine them both."

"Sure, Mister Dillon," Chester said. He hobbled out the door.

Paladin dragged a chair in from the office and put it against the back door to the jail. "I'll keep watch over both of them, Marshal."

"You do that. Josh, you can get that room at the Dodge House. I'll call on you if anything comes up."

"Sure thing, Marshal." Josh repositioned his hat on his head and followed Chester out.

Bret Maverick was the only one who remained. "Excuse me, Marshal. Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?" Matt asked.

"The reward money. As my pappy used to say, if you're owed money, collect it as soon as you can before the fella can lose it to someone else."

"You'll get your money when we figure this mystery out," Matt said. "You can get a room at the Dodge House, too."

"But Marshal—"

"Don't argue, Maverick. I don't like tin-horns as it is."

"Tin-horn?! Why—" Maverick drew in his breath and let it out in an aggravated sigh. "My pappy had another saying. Don't cry over spilt milk. It could have been whiskey."

"Your pappy sounds like he was a smart man. I'll let you know about the money."

Maverick pushed his hat down over his eyes and walked out the door in a huff. As soon as the gambler was gone, Chester walked in with a stooped over old man carrying a doctor's bag. Zim decided this person could only be Doc.

"Hello, Matt," Doc said. "Chester says you have a mystery on your hands."

"Did he fill you in?"

Doc wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. "It's too darned hot for this poppycock, Matt. Why, I saw a scorpion sting itself this morning. That's how bad this heat is."

"Come on, Doc. We've seen worse days."

"Hey!" Zim called out. "We have more important things to do than talk about the weather! How about doing something about this situation so I can get out of here!"

Matt rolled his eyes. "See for yourself, Doc."

The trio walked into the back where Zim pressed himself against the bars, clutching them tight with whitening hands. Other Zim was in repose on his cot, arms behind his head. Doc gave them both a quick once-over and nodded. "They could be twins, Matt. I wouldn't be able to tell them apart except for the hair and clothes."

Matt nodded toward Zim. "You've been around back east, Doc. You ever see clothes like that?"

Doc shook his head. "There a circus in town?"

"I hate this place," Zim muttered.

"Just kidding, son. The pants look kind of like jeans, but not like any jeans I've ever seen. The shirt just looks strange to me, and I've never seen a tattoo like that—" He pointed to Zim's arm. "—outside of a sideshow."

"Give 'em an examination," Matt said. "See if there are any other differences, or if you can find any more clues about this one." He nodded to Zim. "Come on, Chester. Let's give them some privacy."

The two of them left, and Doc turned to both Zims. "All right, gentlemen. Strip down."

"No," Zim said. "I'm not getting naked, especially not in front of this guy." He nodded to Paladin. "I don't want this sinister looking bastard looking at my junk."

"Your what?" Doc asked.

Paladin stood and adjusted his hat. "Sir, I assure you that I have no interest in observing your junk."

Other Zim was already naked and waiting. "Come on, guy. Let's just get this over with."

"Dammit!" Zim shouted. "Why don't you put a stop to this? You killed someone! Just admit it so I can be on my way!"

Other Zim's face went red. "I didn't kill those people! At least, not on purpose."

"You're going to get me killed! I don't want to die in this backwards time!"

"Better you than me, motherfucker!"

"Fuck you! Fuck you and your mother and the horse she rode in on!"

"Take that back, or I'll kill you!"

Paladin sighed, the fingers of his right hand fluttering around the butt of his gun. "When the blood burns, how prodigal the soul lends the tongue vows."

"Shakespeare?" Doc asked.

Paladin nodded. "Hamlet." He turned his attention to the Zims. Lazily he picked up the chair, and to everyone's surprise he violently clanked the legs across the bars of both cells. "That's enough from both of you!"

The Zims were shocked into silence.

Paladin looked at them both in disgust. "Confucius once said that silence is a true friend who never betrays. I suggest you take this lesson to heart. You." He pointed to Zim. "Submit to this doctor's request."

Zim gave a tremendous sigh and started taking his clothes off. The examination of both Zims took about a half an hour, and at the conclusion Doc scratched his scalp, then shook his head while looking down at the floor. "It's the darnedest thing. They're both identical. They even have the same birthmarks."

"Is it possible that they are twins?" Paladin asked.

"I suppose so. But from the sound of it, they don't even know each other."

"Perhaps we should wire Geoff Zim to see if he has another brother."

"By golly, you're right. Chester!"

"Yeah, Doc?" He hobbled into the back room where Paladin gave him instructions and sent him on his way.

Matt joined them as soon as Chester was gone. "Is it possible that they were separated at birth?"

"Do you know your parents?" Paladin asked the Zims.

"Of course," both said in perfect harmony.

"Now wait a minute," Matt said. "This one told me that he was from the future. As crazy as it sounds, do you think that's possible?"

"That's ridiculous," Doc said.

"Not so ridiculous," Zim said. "I live in the year 2016, and one of my friends is Future Booze Jesus. Whenever he gets drunk he makes wild predictions that usually turn out to be accurate."

"In less than a year there will be a presidential election," Paladin said. "Rutherford Hayes will be running against Samuel Tilden. Who will win?"

Zim shook his head. "I don't know who those people are."

"That's odd," Doc said. "How could you not know important politicians of your time?"

"It's not my time," Zim said. And that was when it hit him that he didn't really know all that much about his family's ancestry. Was it possible that Other Zim was actually his great-great-grandfather? Perhaps he was even named for his ancestor.

An even more horrifying idea struck him: that if Other Zim was hanged, he, himself, would cease to exist. Unless Other Zim had already procreated.

"Hey, Other Zim," Zim said.

"Now that's just insulting," Other Zim said.

Zim ignored him. "Do you have any kids?"

"Uh . . . nope. Not that I know of."

"Oh fuck," Zim said.


	6. Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

BAIT

Matt, Doc and Paladin went back and forth for a while, discussing all the possibilities they could think of while Zim sat in his cell and stewed. If Other Zim would just confess to killing those people, then Zim could be set free. However if Other Zim was hanged, Zim would cease to exist because Other Zim was his ancestor. He usually found himself in difficult situations, but this seemed to be the mother of all tribulations.

When everyone was talked out Chester brought in some food for the prisoners. He offered to get something for Paladin, but the man in black refused all but a tin cup of water.

It was almost nightfall when the door to the marshal's office banged open and a short, skinny gentleman wearing a visor and an apron rushed in.

"Hello, Barney," Matt said.

"Marshal, I have that telegram you're expecting." Barney handed a sheet of paper over the desk to Matt, who unfolded it and read it over.

When he finished he pursed his lips. "No response, Barney." He flipped the telegraph agent a coin. "Thanks."

Barney tipped his visor. "Good evening, Marshal."

As soon as he was gone Matt turned to Chester, who was cleaning a rifle at the table. "I have some bad news, Chester, but I want you to go over to the Dodge House and get Josh Randall and Bret Maverick first. They're going to want to hear this."

"Sure thing, Mister Dillon." Chester put the rifle on the rack, locked up and hobbled out the door.

Matt took down the key ring and went into the back room. Paladin perked up, his hand on his revolver, but when he saw it was safe he relaxed. "The telegraph?" he asked.

"Yep," Matt said. "We've got some bad news, and you aren't going to like what I'm going to do about it."

"How long have you been marshal here?" Paladin asked.

"Oh, quite a few years. Why?"

"Brute force alone isn't good enough to keep this office. I'm sure your _wisdom_ has carried you this far. I trust in your judgment."

Zim saw the keys in the marshal's hand. "Are you setting us free?"

"Kind of. You won't be behind bars, at any rate."

Josh Randall stepped into the office, then went to the back room. "What's going on, Marshal?"

"Where's Maverick?" Matt asked.

"He wasn't in his hotel room. Chester's going around to all the gambling houses looking for him."

"Then I might as well start," Matt said. "I just received a telegram from Geoff Zim in San Francisco. He told me that there are no other Zim brothers. In fact, to his knowledge, there are no other Zims."

"I told you I'm from the future," Zim said. "He's the guilty one. You should let me go."

Matt unlocked Zim's cell, but just as Zim was about to step out the marshal held up a hand. "Hold it. You're not completely free to go."

"Um . . ." Zim looked at the open door, wondering if there was another prison he was going to be transferred to.

Matt unlocked the other cell, freeing Other Zim, too. Just as he did this Chester walked in with Bret Maverick.

"This had better be good," the gambler said. "I was in the middle of a winning streak, and as my pappy used to say, the only time you quit when you're winning is when you've won it all." He paused. "What are they doing out of their cells?"

Matt repeated what Geoff Zim had told him in the telegram.

"But that's no reason to let them go free," Maverick said.

"No," Matt said. "But Zim had more bad news for me. Remember that cattle drive that's coming through here? It's the Gil Favor outfit. They're Texans, and one of them is a gunman who was hired to kill Cris Zim. Ever hear of a man named Remington?"

"Isn't that a gun?" Zim asked.

"The man is a well-known killer," Matt said, "but no one knows his real name, and no one knows what he looks like. Rumor has it that he's riding with Favor's crew so he can come to Dodge in disguise for the sole purpose of killing one of you." He cast his glance between the two prisoners.

"I didn't do anything!" Zim cried. "Why does someone want to kill me?!"

"Why are you setting us free, then?" Other Zim asked. "Wouldn't we be safer here?"

"Maybe," Matt said. "But Remington wouldn't be stupid enough to attack you in the jail, and he's a wanted man."

"I've heard stories," Josh said. "They're pretty scary. I hear tell the price on his head is $10,000. I thought to try and collect it several times, but I'm just not crazy enough."

"Yep. He's a dangerous man, and I'd like to take him off the streets," Matt said. "The two of you prisoners are going to perform your civic duty and help me arrest this man."

"I'd rather not," Zim said. "I've had it with trouble. I'm not looking for more of it."

"You've got no choice, mister," Matt said. "I'm turning the two of you loose as bait."

"Now wait just a minute," Maverick said. "You can't do that. What about my money?"

"It's been noted that you brought one of these men in," Matt said. "You'll get your money, if that's all you care about."

Maverick grimaced. "I should have never gotten involved in this mess."

Josh offered a lopsided grin. "Your pappy have any sayings about this?"

"As a matter of fact, he did. He once told me to love my fellow man, but stay out of his troubles if I can."

"How do you propose to protect them?" Paladin asked.

"I was hoping you men would lend a hand," Matt said. "I can't watch them both, and while Chester's good, he's no match for this Remington."

"I'm staying with this one," Maverick said. He pointed to Other Zim. "I don't want him running off and leaving me with no reward money. I worked too hard for this."

"I believe I'll be staying with him, too," Paladin said, "as I believe him to be the real brother of Geoff Zim."

"I guess I'll look after this one," Josh said. He nodded to Zim.

"I will, too," Matt said. "It's settled. You fellas are free to go."

"We're free, but you're gonna be following us around?" Other Zim asked. "That doesn't sound free to me."

Zim rubbed at his temples. "So wait. You're using us as bait to lure in a notorious killer?"

"That's about the size of it," Josh said.

"And it's possible that I'm going to be killed?"

"Yep," Matt said.

"I knew it." Zim rubbed harder at his temples. "Oh . . . fffffffffuck."


	7. Interlude

INTERLUDE

Fitz twisted the steering wheel, and the Falcon started skidding sideways as he took the corner and nearly crashed into another car. Brandon clutched at the ceiling, trying not to slide all over the place in the passenger seat. He looked back and saw that the car behind them had easily made the turn and was still in pursuit.

"Oh God, we are so fucked," Brandon said.

"Never tell me the odds," Fitz said.

"Go faster! He's gaining on us!"

"It'll be fine. I have a plan."

"Why does this shit always happen to us? I can't believe Tailgators got attacked again."

"You got his gun, though, right?"

Brandon remembered the space gun he'd managed to steal from the alien, and he gave it a once over. It was bulky but surprisingly light. There was a trigger, but there were also a bunch of buttons on the stock. He would never be able to figure out how to work it. This wasn't the time to fuck around, though, so he lowered the window and turned around in his seat so he could aim the gun at the other car. He then pulled the trigger and was shocked when there was no recoil. A blast of energy traveled to the other car, hitting it directly in the grill. The car lurched toward the sidewalk while the tail end rose, and it flipped over and over before coming to a halt against a couple of trees by the side of the road. The gas tank exploded, lighting up the night almost as if it were day.

"Yes!" Brandon yelled. "And the quarterback is toast!"

Fitz stopped the cart and turned around so he could see the conflagration. He gave a Nien Nunb kind of laugh as he watched the car burn.

And then the door popped open. The tall blond alien stepped out. His cataract eyes found them immediately, and he ran towards the Falcon.

"Oh shit!" Brandon shouted.

"Great, kid," Fitz said. "Don't get cocky."

"Enough with the _Star Wars_ references! Get going! Fast!"

"Don't worry," Fitz said. "I still have a plan."

He gunned it, and the Falcon lurched forward. Brandon turned and saw that the alien was catching up. Fitz wasn't concerned, though; the apartment was straight ahead. He turned into the parking lot and made another quick turn. He swerved slightly and wound up in a parking space, or rather two. It would have to do; the alien was just making the turn.

Fitz fumbled with the keys to the building, and he almost dropped the key ring as the alien entered the parking lot. Brandon, who still had the gun, attempted to fire it again, but it must have been powering back up because nothing but a spark came out of the barrel.

"Hurry!" he said.

Fitz opened the door, and they both rushed in. From there it was no problem to get into the apartment. Fitz led the way to his bedroom, and he hopped over the bed to get to the device Doc Brown had left him with . . .

. . . only to find that it wasn't there.

He searched his room, but the device was nowhere to be found. "Zim!" he called out. "Were you in my room?"

No answer.

"Fuck," Brandon said. "What are we going to do?"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" Fitz roared.

The window burst open, and the alien jumped into the room. Brandon, who had been standing there, was hurled back, peppered by shattered glass. The blond alien turned his milky gaze to Brandon and kicked him in the head. Fitz heard a crunch, and he wondered if his friend's skull had just been broken.

There was only one chance. Fitz jumped back over to his bed, where the device should have been, but where his gun actually was. He never kept it loaded, but there was a speed loader right next to it. He scooped them both up and loaded the weapon.

The alien turned his attention to Fitz. "I come in peace," he hissed.

Fitz turned the barrel of the gun toward him. "You go in pieces, asshole." And he pulled the trigger. He put every bullet he had into the alien, and the giant toppled over backwards. Gunsmoke filled the air as Fitz looked at the heap of alien. He considered perhaps reloading, but then he remembered Brandon, who was still on the floor, motionless. Fitz didn't think he was even breathing.

Just as he was about to go to his friend's side, the alien rose. It didn't look like he was fazed by the assault. In one motion he hit Fitz in the chest and knocked him onto his bed. Before Fitz could retaliate the alien hovered over him and ripped his shirt open. Somewhere in the back of his mind Fitz thought, _Oh fuck. Not the Gem Saloon shirt! I loved that shirt!_

The alien grimaced. "I come in peace," he said again. Then two hoses shot out of his arm and plunged into Fitz's chest. As the sucking began Fitz cursed Zim's name, and then he knew no more.


	8. Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

FREEDOM TASTES LIKE USED WHISKEY

As soon as Paladin and Maverick had left with Other Zim, Josh turned to Matt. "Anything in the marshal's petty fund for clothes for a prisoner?"

Matt nodded. "Good point. He can't go around like that. Follow me."

Zim looked down at himself. "What's wrong with the way I dress?"

Josh and Matt ignored him as they headed for the desk. Matt opened a drawer and withdrew a tin box. He opened it with a key from his pocket and handed Josh a few coins. "That should do the trick."

Josh tipped his hat. "Much obliged."

"I have to do my rounds and everything tonight," Matt said. "You'll have to watch over him for now. I'll take over in the morning, all right?"

Josh nodded. "Sounds good. Come on, Zim."

Zim followed behind the bounty hunter, staring at the floor. "This sucks."

"Better than getting shot at," Josh said. "You up for a drink?"

Zim grunted. "You paying? Because apparently all the money I have is funny money."

Josh laughed. "Sure. I'm paying. We'll stop at the Longbranch as soon as I get some decent clothes for you."

They headed across the street to a place that was simply called the General Store. According to a sign on the outside, the proprietor was a man by the name of Wilbur Jonas. They entered to find a middle-aged man sweeping the floor, motes of dust stuck to his spectacles.

"Howdy," Josh said. "I'm looking for some clothes."

Jonas pointed the direction. "You need any help, let me know."

"Much obliged." Josh led Zim to the back wall where a few shirts were folded on several shelves organized by size and color. "Blue good for you?"

"Whatever," Zim said.

Josh grinned. "Careful. I might just buy you a pink shirt."

"You would, wouldn't you?"

"Nah." Josh slapped the shirt against Zim's chest. "You'll need pants, too." He took up some trousers and held them up to Zim's waist, then put them back for a longer pair. "That should do. You need socks and underwear?"

The thought of this bounty hunter getting him a pair of boxers chilled Zim to the bone. "No. No thanks."

"You'll need boots, though. I don't see how you go around in those flimsy things." He pointed to Zim's sneakers.

"Flimsy? These are the finest sneakers the future has to offer!"

"They'll fall to pieces in days out here," Josh said. "You need good, reliable boots. Here, these good?" He handed over a pair of cowboy boots.

Zim looked them over. They looked a little bit big for him, but he didn't think that would be much of an issues. So long as they weren't too small. "They're fine."

"Good. Let's pay up."

Even Zim, who had no problem mooching off others, felt a little weird about this. A shirt, pants and a pair of boots had to be a lot. He was about to object when he learned that the set only cost five dollars, which Josh handed over in coins.

"Five dollars?" Zim asked. "That's it?"

"It's a little on the expensive side," Josh said, "but what the heck? It's not my money." He turned to Jonas. "Is there a dressing room?"

"Out back," Jonas said. He hooked a thumb toward the door.

"Come on," Josh said to Zim. "Much obliged, mister."

When they reached the dressing room Zim tried to close the curtain, but Josh held it to the side. "Can't let you do that, Zim."

"You want to watch me get naked?" Zim asked.

"Not particularly. But I can't let you out of my sight, not even for a second."

Zim gave a tremendous sigh. "Fine." And he began getting dressed. Instantly he disapproved of this apparel. First it made him look too plain, and he just couldn't have that. He wanted people to look at him, to gaze at the body he sometimes—not often, but _sometimes_ —worked to build at the gym. He also wanted to give the impression that his sexual prowess might be legendary. But even worse than this plainness was the rough feel of the material against his sensitive skin. It felt like he was wearing a sandpaper shirt.

"This sucks," he said. He stepped out of the dressing room.

"You'll get over it," Josh said.

"These boots are too big. I can feel my feet slipping around."

Josh stepped on the tip of one boot, and he definitely felt toes. "These are fine."

Zim sighed again. "What about that drink?"

"Let's go."

"Does it have to be the Longbranch?" Zim asked. "I don't want to go back there. I think they think I'm a fool there."

"Probably," Josh said. "But it's the only place in town where you can find a good time. There's the Lady Gaye down the street, but that's where the other Zim is."

"Fuck that," Zim said. "I hate that fucking guy."

There were a couple of women shopping in the corner. Both looked up, shocked at what Zim had said. "What?" he asked. "It's a free country."

"You might want to watch the language," Josh said. He tipped his hat to the ladies. "Sorry, folks. He just got out of jail."

Zim's face reddened, as one of the women was kind of young and more than a little hot. "Thanks a lot, asshole."

Both ladies shook their heads in disapproval as Josh dragged Zim out of there. It was a short walk to the Longbranch, where they both bellied up to the bar. Zim watched the carefree, lazy way Josh conducted himself, and he tried to do the same thing.

"Evening, Josh," the bartender said. "What'll you have tonight?"

"Rye, Sam."

"And what'll the clown have?" Sam asked. He hooked a thumb at Zim.

Zim sighed. "Just give me a whiskey."

"Coming up," Sam said. He produced two shot glasses and poured from two different bottles.

"We'll take the bottles," Josh said. He dropped some coins on the bar and nodded for Zim to take the whiskey bottle. They both approached an empty table and sat down. Josh took off his hat and placed it on one of the spare chairs. He sipped on his rye.

Zim downed the first shot, and it burned like no whiskey he'd ever had before. It tasted like poison. He coughed and gagged, trying to get the taste out of his mouth. He guessed the proof to be at least 160. It didn't stop him from pouring the next drink, though. "This is pretty cheap for booze. In my time you couldn't get a bottle of this stuff for less than ten bucks."

Josh whistled, shaking his head. "Tell me about the future."

Zim downed the next shot. It went down easier this time. "I've seen the future, and it doesn't work."

"I'll bet." Josh took another sip. There was still booze left in the shot glass.

"I'm just kidding. It's a line from the movie _Zardoz_."

"A what?"

"A movie. Don't you have those?"

"Uh . . ."

"Oh. Right. It's like a picture. You have those, right?"

"You mean, a photograph?"

"Yeah. But imagine the images inside them moving. Telling a story."

"Like a stage play," Josh said.

"Yeah, except with awesome special effects. It's too bad you guys don't have the technology yet. It's pretty awesome stuff."

"Sounds crazy to me."

Zim poured himself another shot and downed it. "I still can't believe how cheap this is. I could drink this stuff all day."

"Maybe you should take it easy," Josh said. "It's only seven o'clock."

"I'll be fine," Zim said. "Hey, check it out. I think that lady is looking at me." He pointed to a young woman in a puffy dress with a low neck. She was indeed looking at Zim.

"Probably," Josh said. "She doesn't know that you don't have any money."

"Money? You mean, to buy her a drink?"

"No, to buy _her_."

Zim's eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what Josh was talking about. Then it hit him, and his jaw dropped. "She's a prostitute?!"

"I think they prefer lady of the night, but yeah."

"That's legal back here?"

"Sure. Why? Is it illegal in the future?"

"Pretty much."

Josh shook his head. "I'm not one for buying such services, but I can't believe anyone would be stupid enough to ban whores from doing their work. That's like telling a man he doesn't have the right to carry a gun on his hip."

"Well . . ." Zim decided to keep his mouth shut. He already looked bad enough as it was; why make matters worse? "Hey, do you think you could lend me some money? It's been forever since—"

"Nope," Josh said.

"You have no idea how hard it is to get laid in the future," Zim said.

"It's hard to get laid _now_ in the west. That's why we have so many whores. But I'm not letting you buy one."

"Why not?"

"Because I have to keep you in sight at all times, and I'm not going to watch you bed a whore."

Zim shrugged. "Fair enough, I guess." Although it pissed him off. He really wanted to get his dick wet, but not if some dude had to watch him. That would be kind of gay. He poured the next shot and downed it. The world became distant, and he knew he was buzzed already. "What do you guys do for fun in the past?"

"Not much," Josh said. "Whoring, gambling, things like that. Plays are good, but most people don't have the stomach for such respectability. They much prefer being told stories by drunkards in saloons."

Zim looked around. The place wasn't too busy yet, but even so . . . "You mean, this is it?"

Josh started rolling a cigarette. "That's about the size of it."

Zim watched as Josh rolled a paper around a stringy tobacco, then licked the edge. "Why don't you just buy them in a pack?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Josh asked. Zim opened his mouth, but Josh held up a hand. "Wait, is this another future thing?"

"Yeah. Never mind." Zim took down another shot.

An hour later Josh was not surprised to find that Zim's head was on the table, and he groaned loudly. Zim had gone through about three-quarters of the bottle since they'd walked in eighty minutes ago. Josh had only gone through one-quarter of his own bottle, and he was feeling pleasantly buzzed.

"You all right, Zim?" he asked.

"Go away," Zim said. He didn't look up from the fortress of his crossed arms.

Not long thereafter Zim passed out, oblivious to the world. Josh put his hat over Zim's head, so he now looked like any old drunk passed out in a bar, and he went over to the next table with his rye, where a game of draw poker was going on. He sat down in such a position as he could keep an eye on Zim, and he began playing.

At one point Louie Pheeters, the town drunk, approached Zim's table and attempted to take the remainder of the bottle of whiskey. Josh looked up at the drunk and shook his head. Instead Louie sat down at the table and struck up a one-sided conversation with Zim. Only once did Zim lift his head, and when he did he looked at Louie. "Future Booze Jesus?"

"If I am, will you give me a drink?" Louie asked.

Zim put his head back down. "Whatever."

Permission granted, Louie grabbed the bottle and started drinking.

Josh ignored him, thinking that later he'd get his money's worth out of Zim. He went against his better judgment and drew to an inside straight. He had the idea that somewhere nearby, Maverick could sense this, and he would disapprove of it. But it surprisingly came out to a decent ending. Two tens won him the pot.

It was then that Louie wandered over to Josh. "I think your friend's having some troubles."

Josh raked in his winnings. "Oh?"

"Yeah. You'll smell it in a minute." And Louie went out the door and on to the next den of booze.

Josh took a sniff of the air and smelled puke. "Sorry, fellas. That's my cue to leave. You all have a good night, y'hear?"

"Good luck, Randall," one of the gamblers said.

Josh stepped over to Zim's table to see that Zim had puked in his lap. There was some on the table, but not much. He took his hat off Zim's head and slapped him on the shoulder. "Wake up, Zim. It's time to go."

Zim grumbled under his breath but did not move.

"Hey Sam!" Josh called out. "We're going to need a cleanup over here!"

Sam wrinkled his nose, then headed over to the table with a bucket and a rag.

"Zim, get up," Josh said. "We've got to go."

"Alone." Zim couldn't manage more than that.

Josh didn't have the time for this, so he grabbed Zim under the arms and dragged him out through the batwing doors. Once outside he dumped Zim into the water trough, which was now full. There was a tremendous splash, and Zim was up and spitting out water.

"Fuck!" he shouted. "What was that for?!"

"Clean you up," Josh said. "Can't have you smelling like that."

Zim then bowed his head over the edge of the trough and puked up more of the night's whiskey. He did that for a while as Josh looked the other way, trying not to puke himself. This went on for quite some time before Zim was finally silent. Every once in a while he spat on the ground, but it seemed like he was done vomiting.

"Get it all out of you?" Josh asked.

Zim groaned. "I guess."

"Ready for bed?"

Zim nodded.

Josh helped him up out of the trough and walked him back to the Dodge House. The desk man, Howie Uzzell, looked shocked at Zim's appearance.

"Rough night," Josh said. He took the key to his room. "Goodnight."

Once up in his room he helped Zim strip out of his clothes. Then, dressed only in his shorts, Zim dropped down into bed, immediately asleep.

Josh reached into his saddle bag, which was slung over the foot of the bed, and withdrew handcuffs. He fastened one end to Zim's right wrist, threaded the chain through the bars in the head of the bed and then fastened the other end to Zim's other wrist.

The click woke Zim up, and he saw the chains around his wrists. "Dude. What the fuck?"

"Just a precaution," Josh said. He took up a chair nearby and rolled another cigarette.

"I can't sleep like this," Zim said.

"You'd be surprised at what you can get used to. Just close your eyes and try."

"Gak," Zim said.

"Pardon?"

Zim's mouth opened, and it looked like he was going to gag. Then a fresh gout of vomit came shooting from his mouth, spraying himself and the bed all the way down to his waist. "Now you have to uncuff me."

Josh put his hat down over his eyes. "Goodnight, Zim. We'll get you cleaned up in the morning."

"Don't you dare go to sleep!" Zim yelled. "You can't leave me like this!"

"Sure can," Josh said. The cigarette he'd lit before closing his eyes smoldered in the ashtray, covering the stink coming from the bed.

Zim was about to protest more, but he felt something rising in his throat. "Oh fuck." And then more of the Longbranch's cheap whiskey came pouring out of his mouth.


	9. Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

SOMETHING TO FILL THEM GUTS

Even though Josh covered his eyes, he did not sleep. Chances were good that no one knew where Zim was, but it paid to be careful. When Zim started snoring Josh lifted the brim of his hat and listened to everything around him. There were some voices from a saloon outside, but that was it. Everything else was calm and silent.

He wasn't much for reading, so he started rolling cigarettes to save time later. Maybe Zim really was from the future, as pre-rolled cigarettes sounded like a great idea. Tobacco companies could make a killing off such a product.

When he was done he put the cigarettes in his tobacco pouch except one, which he lit to ward off the smell coming from Zim. He was mostly used to the vomit by now, but he preferred the aroma of smoke.

Soon the sun came up over the horizon, and light leaked into the hotel room. Josh's stomach growled, so he figured it was time for breakfast. He strapped on his mare's leg and kicked the side of the bed. "Up and at 'em, Zim."

Zim groaned, and the chains rattled against the bedrail. "Oh Jesus. What's that smell?"

"It's you," Josh said. "Get up, get washed and get dressed. It's time for breakfast."

"I don't know if I can eat."

"You'll need something to fill them guts." He removed the handcuffs. "Now get up, or I'll turn you out of bed."

Zim sighed, and the scent of puke wafted over to Josh. He held his breath as he poured water into the wash basin. He practically poured the whole thing in.

"Where's the bathroom?" Zim asked.

"No time for a bath," Josh said. "Just use the basin."

"No, I gotta take a shit."

"There's an outhouse out back," Josh said.

"Outhouse? As in, outside bathroom? With spiders and stuff in it?"

"And maybe a scorpion," Josh said. "No time to act prissy. I'm hungry and tired, and I want to hand you off to the marshal as soon as I can."

Zim grimaced. "Scorpions?"

Josh ignored him and lit another cigarette.

Zim stumbled out of bed, a little off balance from the booze, and staggered over to the wash basin. The first thing he did was scoop a handful of water into his mouth, swish it around a bit and then look around for a place to spit it out. There was no drain because it wasn't a sink, and this confused him. Finally he elected to spit it out the window. Someone shouted from below, but he ignored the voice as he drank from the basin. He was already starting to feel better as he washed his body with the spare water.

"You'd better wear your old clothes," Josh said. "The new ones got ruined last night."

"Sorry," Zim said. But he wasn't. He much preferred the old threads. They made him more comfortable.

When he was dressed they went down to the outhouse, and Josh waited while Zim pinched one off. Zim then moaned when he saw there was no actual toilet paper but a Sear's catalogue. He didn't know who Roebuck was, but he didn't care. He was about to ask Josh for real toilet paper, but he figured it was just another cultural difference. Gritting his teeth against the rough grain, he still could not believe there was a time in which toilet paper did not exist.

He emerged from the outhouse. "We're not going back to the Longbranch, are we?"

"Nope," Josh said. "Delmonico's. The best place for breakfast, as far as I'm concerned. Why?"

"I can't ever go back to the Longbranch. Not after what I did last night."

"There's wisdom in that. Let's go."

They walked through the alley and across the street. The restaurant was down the block, and it seemed a lot classier than the Longbranch, and old fashioned to boot. The tables even had red-checkered tablecloths. They chose a table and ordered. Steak and eggs for both of them. Before the food arrived, Matt Dillon walked in with Chester Goode in tow. They made their greetings and sat down.

"Breakfast?" Josh asked them.

"No thanks," Matt said. "We already ate. Any trouble last night?"

Josh exchanged a sidelong glance with Zim, a grin dancing on his lips. "Nope. No trouble."

"Good."

"You get any sleep last night, Marshal?"

"Not much," Matt said, "but that's all right. I'm used to not sleeping much. Could've done without someone spitting out their window at me earlier this morning. Some folks are just slobs, I guess."

Zim couldn't meet the marshal's eyes.

The door opened, and Paladin stepped in with Other Zim behind him. There was a grim look on the gentleman gunslinger's face as he reached back and grabbed Other Zim by his shirt, yanking him inside and to the table.

"Sit down!" Paladin yelled. Other Zim complied, his face pale and tired.

"What's going on?" Matt asked.

"Tell them what you did," Paladin said. His fingers danced near the butt of his revolver.

"Nothing," Other Zim said.

Paladin nodded his head and breathed deeply out of his nose. "Mr. Zim joined Maverick in a game of poker last night. Mr. Zim decided to tip the scales in his favor by pocketing aces for use later in the game, and he was caught. One of the players took great offense at this, and he attempted to shoot Mr. Zim. Maverick tried to intervene, and he was shot for this effort."

"When did this happen?" Matt asked. "I didn't hear anything about this."

"Just an hour ago," Paladin said. He still stared down Other Zim.

"Is Maverick all right?"

"It was just a flesh wound," Other Zim said. "And he wouldn't have gotten shot if he'd just had my back."

Paladin scowled and pointed at Other Zim. "First of all, the bullet broke his arm in two, so it was _not_ just a flesh wound! And secondly, Maverick is an honest gambler! To have sided with you would have tainted his good name!"

"So what?" Other Zim asked.

Paladin forced himself to calm down. "Sophocles once said that he would prefer even to fail with honor than to win by cheating. You could learn something from him."

"And Ben Franklin said, 'He'll cheat without scruple, who can without fear,'" Other Zim said.

Paladin's eyes widened, and his teeth clenched. "'The sure way to be cheated is to think one's self more cunning than others.' Francois de la Rochefoucald."

Other Zim laughed. "That Ben Franklin quote's the only one I know."

The waiter came by the table and looked at Other Zim. "Anything for you, sir?"

"No," Paladin said. "He will have only bread from this basket. Please bring him water."

"But—" Other Zim said.

"I will have steak and eggs," Paladin said. "And milk, if it's fresh."

"It's good to know I'm not the only fuckup around here," Zim said.

"What do you know?" Other Zim said. He grabbed a piece of bread and stuffed it in his mouth.

"I know I'm no killer," Zim said. "I have many faults, but I've never ended someone's life." He thought about Krimskep, but that didn't really count. The monster wasn't human, and the beast might not even have been alive in the first place.

"I didn't kill anyone," Other Zim said. "What happened to the Hayworth family was an accident. Granted, maybe I shouldn't have been fooling around with their daughter, but I didn't really get to do anything with her. I was interrupted by Mr. Hayworth, and he went for his shotgun. In self-defense I dropped her lantern, which set the place on fire. When a crazed Mr. Hayworth tried to use the other barrel of the shotgun on me, he accidentally fired into the rafters. He hit the main board, and the ceiling crashed down on us. I barely escaped with my life."

"And you didn't help your girlfriend?" Zim asked.

"She was burned up by the time I geo away from Mr. Hayworth. There was nothing I could have done. And now those idiot Texans think I'm some kind of mad dog killer."

"Well," Josh said, "judging from what I know of you, you seem prone to accidents. I guess it could have happened that way."

"Zims have a lot of luck," Zim said, "and none of it's good. Sometimes I think my family is doomed, like maybe we were cursed by gypsies at some point."

"It's not for me to judge you," Matt said. "You'll get your day in court. The circuit judge will be by tomorrow, and we'll get that counterfeit charge out of the way for you." He pointed at Zim. "We'll ask what we should do about you." He pointed to Other Zim. "And we'll probably send you down to Texas for your murder trial."

"If I'm tried down there, I'm dead," Other Zim said. "The Hayworths get around, and they were well liked."

"Then maybe we can get you sent to Houston instead of Dallas," Matt said. "For now, just get comfortable, and we'll try to keep you alive until then."

Zim finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth clean on a cloth napkin, which he thought was absolute class. It was then that Matt finally got a good look at him. "Where's your new clothes?"

"They got soiled," Josh said. "Sorry, Marshal."

Matt sighed. "We'll get you something new, Zim. Come on, Chester. Let's escort him back to the office."

"You're not putting me in jail again, are you?" Zim asked.

"No. Now, let's go."

The trio headed for the door, and Matt was the first one out when a rising cloud from the south side of town rose up and collected around the roofs of the buildings. Matt shielded his eyes and squinted to get a better look.

And that was when the cattle drovers rode into town, whooping and shooting into the sky, their horses thundering down the dirt road. They came to a stop in front of the Longbranch and tied up their horses. From the sound of their voices, they were Texans.

Gil Favor's outfit. The one in which the killer, Remington, was hiding.

Matt looked first to Chester, then to Zim.

"What?" Zim asked.

"Oh fuck," the marshal said.


	10. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

ZIM . . . FOUND!

Matt pushed Zim back into Delmonico's and dragged Chester back in after him. He then closed the door and leaned against it. "We can't go out there now," he said.

"So what?" Zim asked. "It's just a bunch of cowboys."

"It's the Gil Favor outfit. Remington is riding with them, remember?"

"Oh fuck," Zim said.

"Exactly. Sit back down. I'm going to go out and talk to them, find out who they are and where they're camped out. Do not leave this place until I came back, got it?"

"I'll make sure they stay," Paladin said.

"Dern," Josh said. "I was looking forward to some sleep."

Matt squared his hat and stepped out onto the boardwalk, watching the drovers and not caring if they noticed he was watching. It was a marshal's duty to know who was in town, so it probably wouldn't have surprised them enough.

The main body of the cowboys headed into the Longbranch, no doubt looking for a fresh beer after a hard trail. Others were heading into Jonas's place. Behind the rush a covered wagon approached and parked in front of the General Store. A gamey looking fellow with a big beard and no hair on his pate jumped down and walked, almost bowlegged, into the store. If Matt had to guess, this one was the cook. Cooks tended to know the most about an outfit, and they were usually blabbermouths.

Matt stepped into the General Store and looked around. The cowboys in here were mostly looking at new clothes, and one was looping a length of rope around his palm and elbow. The cook stood at the counter, rattling off a list of goods he needed for the chuck wagon. Matt browsed around, pretending to be a shopper, until the cook was done and started to browse himself.

Matt approached, tipping his hat back so as to look a little more good-old-boy-ish. His hands came to rest on his belt buckle. "Pardon me, mister, but aren't you the cook for the Gil Favor outfit?"

The cook's chest puffed up, and he held out a hand. "Name's G.W. Wishbone."

Matt shook his hand. "I'm Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal." And he flashed his badge from under his vest.

"I heard tell of you, Marshal," Wishbone said. "They say you're a hard man."

"I'm just doing my job, Mr. Wishbone."

"Just Wishbone."

"All right."

"And you see a bunch of drovers riding into town," Wishbone continued, "so you want to know if we're trouble or not. Well, we don't bother no one unless they bother us first."

"Glad to hear it, Wishbone. Where are you camped out?"

"Just south of town. There's that open field which is perfect for grazing."

"Say, I wonder if you could help me out," Matt said. "I'm looking for a fella by the name of Remington. I hear tell he was riding with a cattle drive, and I was wondering if you'd heard of him."

"Well, you know how some men change their name on the road. What's he look like?"

Matt shrugged. "I just know the name."

"Can't help you," Wishbone said.

"Maybe I'll stop by and talk with your boss. Is Mr. Favor out with the herd?"

"Yep. He'll probably be in later, though. What's this Remington fella supposed to have done?"

"He's wanted for murder," Matt said.

Wishbone scratched his bald head. "Well, most of the guys have been together since Texas. There are a few new faces we picked up on the way."

"Thanks for your help. I hope you enjoy your stay in Dodge."

As Matt walked back toward Delmonico's he saw Bret Maverick cross the street from Doc's office, headed for the Longbranch. The gambler looked the same as always, but his arm was in a sling.

"Maverick," Matt said.

The gambler turned, and when he saw the marshal he grinned. "Well, howdy, Marshal."

"I heard you'd been shot," Matt said.

Maverick waved a dismissive hand. "Aw, it was just a flesh wound."

"Glad to hear you're recovering so quickly."

"Well, us Mavericks heal pretty fast."

"Especially when a cattle drive is in town, flush with money you can win from them?"

There was a moment when it looked like Maverick didn't know what to say. He gave up. "That might have something to do with it."

"All right, then. Gamble away. But make sure you're ready to take over for Paladin tonight. And don't get drunk and start talking about Zim being in town."

"I don't drink, Marshal," Maverick said. "I've got poker down to a science. You can't be a scientist if you're drunk out of your gourd. But you can be if your fellow man is drunk out of _his_ gourd."

"Just be careful, all right?"

"Sure thing, Marshal."

Maverick went into the saloon while Matt went back into the restaurant. He looked at his companions and shook his head. "They don't know anything about this Remington fella. I'm going to head out to their camp and talk with their boss. In the meantime I think the only safe place for the two Zims is in my jail."

"No," Zim said. "Please, no."

"I can take it," Other Zim said. "Whatever."

"One of those drovers is apt to come in here eventually," Matt said. "You need to be elsewhere, or you'll get killed." 

Zim sighed. "Fine."

"There's a lot of dust out there right now. No one would look twice at the two of you if you have a bandana over your faces."

"They might still see this one's face without a hat," Paladin said. He pointed at Zim.

Matt took off his hat and put it on Zim. It was so big that it slipped down to his eyes. "That should do the trick."

"I can barely see anything," Zim said.

"You'll be fine. Let's get going."

They each paid their way for breakfast except for Zim, who was covered by Josh. Chester stepped outside first, and when he gave the sign Matt pushed Zim out in front of him. Paladin came next, dragging Other Zim behind him. Josh was the last, hand on his mare's leg.

Quietly, drawing no attention to themselves, they made their way across the street to the marshal's office. Matt and Paladin managed to keep their heads forward, intent on their mission, but Chester and Josh looked around them as if they expected to be rushed by cowboys at any second.

Finally they reached the other boardwalk, and Matt pushed Zim through the door first. He was followed by everyone else, but no one noticed they had company until it was too late.

Four cowboys lounged in the office. One was a rail-thin man with a giant Adam's apple and a pompadour. He leaned against the marshal's desk. Another gnawed away at a hunk of tobacco, spittle dribbling down his stubby chin. The other two were in the back looking at the cells. When everyone stepped in, the cowboys looked up to see the newcomers.

"One of you the marshal?" the man by the desk asked.

"I'm Matt Dillon."

"I'm Rowdy Yates. I'm the ramrod for Mr. Favor's outfit. These drovers over here are Mac, Dennis and Charlie. We're looking for a fella who we hear is in your town."

One of the others—Charlie, the one with the chaw—glanced at the newcomers. Even though the two Zims were fairly well disguised, there was clearly recognition on Charlie's face. "Holy shit, guys! There are two of them!"

"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Mac asked.

Charlie pointed at the two Zims. "Two Cris Zims!"

"You've got to stop eating every flower you find in the desert," Dennis said.

"No, wait," Mac said. "I think Charlie has a point." He reached out and pulled the hats off of the two Zims. "Holy shit! It really is them!"

"They killed my cousin and her family," Charlie said. His hand drifted down to the butt of his gun. "I demand satisfaction!"

"Oh fuck!" both Zims said in unison.


	11. Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

GET OUT OF DODGE!

Matt's hand flew to the butt of his gun, but he did not draw. Not yet. "Hold it, mister. He's a prisoner of the law. He's not getting away, and he'll get his trial."

Charlie fumed, brown spittle flying from his lips. "He killed my kin, Marshal! He has to die by my hand!"

"That's not going to happen," Matt said. "Get out of here, mister, before you do something you'll regret."

Mac and Dennis joined Charlie with their hands on their guns. "You think you can take us all, Marshal?" Mac asked.

Paladin stepped up, crouched like an animal, ready to spring. "He won't have to."

Josh Randall stepped in, as well. "I think this about evens the odds."

"Fellas," Rowdy said to the drovers. "Calm down. This is the law, here."

"Fuck the law!" Charlie yelled. "I'm the wild card!"

Rowdy gritted his teeth. "You listen here, Charlie Kelly. When Mr. Favor ain't around, I'm in charge. If you want to keep your job, you'd better stand down."

Mac and Dennis looked a bit doubtful, and their hands wandered from the butts of their guns. Charlie, however, ignored Rowdy and gave a war cry. Charlie's hand tightened on his gun, and he started drawing down, staring wildly at Other Zim as he did so.

Other Zim closed his eyes, waiting for the bullet that would end his life, and Zim felt his stomach drop as he prepared to be wiped out of existence, but then something odd happened. Matt lunged forward, much faster than a man his size should have been capable of, and thumped Charlie on the side of the head with his gun. Even Paladin, who was used to seeing the fastest people the world had to offer, was amazed by the speed the marshal used in buffaloing Charlie Kelly. The drover went down in a pile while his friends stared in awe.

"Good God!" Zim said. "That was awesome!"

Mac and Dennis knelt down next to their friend. Charlie was bleeding from a gash in his head, and his mouth and nose were wet with blood. He gurgled when he breathed, so everyone knew he was still alive.

"You could have killed him," Dennis said.

"He could have killed _us_ ," Matt said. "He's going to be all right. I've buffaloed my share of men over time, so I know when I've struck a killing blow. You folks got off lucky. Pick up your friend, and get out of Dodge. If I see you three around here again, I'll have you locked up."

"He needs a doctor," Dennis said.

"No, he just needs a good rest. Keep him off his feet for the next week, and he'll be ready to start riding and roping again. Now get out of here." Matt stepped aside so they would have a clear path to the door.

Mac and Dennis pulled Charlie to his feet and dragged him out the door. This task did not distract them from giving dirty looks to the marshal. As soon as they were gone, Rowdy stepped up to the group, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry about them. They're troublemakers. Good drovers, but they start too many fights."

"You're the ramrod of the Gil Favor outfit?" Matt asked.

"That's right."

"I have a few questions for you, then. Ever hear of a gunfighter named Remington?"

Rowdy shook his head. "Can't say as I have. What's he got to do with us?"

"I hear tell he's riding with your outfit. Riding up here to kill Cris Zim. Does that name ring a bell?"

Rowdy nodded. "Yeah, that one's been kicked around the crew since Texas. Since those three hands were hired on. From what I can tell this Zim fella killed Charlie's cousin and her family. I don't think the other two are his friends, though they were hired on at the same time. I think they're more interested in the reward on Zim's head."

"Do you think Charlie Kelly is his real name?" Matt asked.

Rowdy laughed. "You know how it is on a trail drive. You hire a man, you don't really know anything about him, except what he tells you."

"What about the other two? What are their names?"

"Mac I just know as Mac. Dennis is Dennis Reynolds. Aside from that, I don't know a thing."

"Do you think one of them might be a gunfighter?"

Rowdy rubbed his chin, a grin on his face. "I doubt it. These guys are kind of on the slow side. We got a cook's louse, name of Mushy. He's about the dumbest thing I've ever met, yet somehow these three new fellas share maybe just enough brain cells to be as smart as Mushy."

"What about the rest of the crew?" Matt asked.

"We've been a tight knit group for quite some time. I'd trust these men with my life."

Matt nodded. "Did you hire on any other new men?"

"Just Mac, Dennis and Charlie," Rowdy said.

"All right. Later I'm going to head out to your camp and have a few words with your boss. Make sure to keep control of your men, all right?"

"Of course. We don't cause trouble, but I won't lie: trouble usually has a way of finding us. There is a problem, though."

"What's that?"

"We did come for that Zim fella," Rowdy said. "That's why we were waiting here. I didn't know what those other men had in mind, but after what I heard he did to that poor girl, I wanted to make sure he was behind bars, waiting for his hanging. When is that scheduled, if you don't mind me asking?"

"It's not. Yet. The trial's probably going to be in Houston, so you'll miss out on it."

"A lot of the crew isn't going to like that," Rowdy said. "In fact it might get 'em riled up. They came to see a murderer of women hang, and those three fellas might convince them to make it happen."

"You're the ramrod," Matt said. "Keep your men in line. If you can't do that, you're not welcome in Dodge."

Rowdy nervously scratched at his cheek. "All right. I'll tell Mr. Favor that you're coming."

As soon as Rowdy was gone, the group of men left in the office turned to look at each other, almost in a semi-circle. Matt said, "What do you make of this?"

"The ramrod seems pretty reasonable," Josh said. He popped a cigarette he'd pre-rolled that morning into the corner of his mouth. "In my experience that usually means the trail boss is a good man."

"What about Remington?" Matt asked. "Do you think one of those three men is him?"

"I'm almost certain of it," Paladin said. "Zim. Was the family down in Texas named Kelly?"

Other Zim shook his head. "The might have kin named Kelly, though."

"Then I don't think it's Charlie," Paladin said. "It has to be either Mac or Dennis."

"What if the rumor about Remington is wrong?" Zim asked. "Maybe this Remington dude doesn't even exist."

"Dude?" Chester asked. "You think he's a dude? Traveling with a herd of longhorns?"

Zim vaguely remembered that "dude" meant something different in the old days, but he wasn't sure what it meant. Rather than look like an idiot, which he was too good at doing, he cleared his throat. "It's just a figure of speech."

"Remington is very real," Josh said. "I've heard stories about him that'd curl your toes."

Paladin nodded. "He definitely exists. And I think either Mac or Dennis is playing dumb. Maybe both of them."

"They're in it for the money, remember?" Zim asked.

Josh perked up. "I just had me an idea. Who knows money best out of all of us?"

"Maverick," Matt said.

"I say we give him a stake, send him out to the herd and have him gamble with Mac and Dennis. He'll get the best read on them as possible. If one of them is really a cold-blooded killer, he'll figure it out."

"But if he tips his hand, he might get killed," Paladin said.

"So we hide in the shadows," Josh said. "We keep him covered. What do you think?"

Matt said, "It could work. But we'd be leaving the two Zims vulnerable."

"Let us take care of Maverick," Josh said. "You and Chester hang back and watch after them here in the jail, where they'd be safe."

"All right," Matt said. "We'll do this. Chester, put the Zims in separate cells. Josh, you get Maverick. I saw him go into the Longbranch. Paladin, you wait with Chester. I have to go out to see Gil Favor. While I'm doing that, Josh will ride out with Maverick. As soon as I come back, and it shouldn't be too long, you head out and meet up with Josh to watch over Maverick. Everyone know what they're doing?"

As soon as everyone agreed, they split up to perform their separate duties.

"Come on," Chester said to the Zims.

Zim followed Chester. "I really hate the Old West."

"What's so old about the West?" Chester asked.

Zim sighed as he ambled into his cell. Chester locked it and then locked Other Zim up. "If you need anything, just holler."

Zim dumped himself onto the bed and looked at Other Zim through the bars. "This sucks. Hard."

"I've been in jail before," Other Zim said. "This is one of the better ones." His eyes drifted up above Zim's head. "Look out!" And he dove for cover, pulling the cot down so he couldn't be seen.

Zim looked up to see the barrel of a gun pointing through the bars of the window. "Shit! I can't see the dirty looking one!" It was Dennis.

"Get the other one!" Mac shouted.

The gun moved down, trying to aim at Zim, who pressed himself up against the wall and drew his legs as close to his chest as he could. "I can't reach him! The gun won't go all the way through the bars!"

"Goddammit, Dennis! Try harder!"

There was an explosion, and Zim cringed as the bullet passed him by mere inches. It hit the floor and ricocheted into the back door of the jail.

"Did you get him?"

"No," Dennis said. "Missed."

Chester rushed into the jail with a shotgun in his hands. "Who's there?!" he shouted.

The gun twitched in Chester's direction. Zim said, "Oh fuck!" And Dennis fired three times.


	12. Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

TREE THIS TOWN!

Chester didn't even have the time to scream as three bullets pierced his chest. The shotgun fell from his hands and clattered on the hardwood floor. Chester's lifeless body shortly followed, blood already seeping out into a puddle.

"Holy shit!" Zim shouted. He hugged the wall closer.

"What happened?" Mac asked.

"The gimp tried to shoot me," Dennis said, "but I got him. He's dead."

"Great! That means there's no one else in there! Let's just walk in and kill them at point blank range!"

"That's a good idea. I'm glad I partnered up with you, Mac."

"I'm a great idea man," Mac said. From the grunts Zim heard, he thought Mac might have been doing karate moves.

The gun withdrew from the window, and Zim heard the sound of running feet. It was at that point that Paladin rushed in, his gun drawn. He crouched like an animal, trying to make the smallest target possible. When he saw there was no one in here but the Zims, he went to Chester's body. He turned it over so he could see the face, and he was not surprised to find it was blank, eyes staring into infinity. He was about to close them when Zim shouted Paladin's name. "Look out!"

Paladin whirled around just in time to see Dennis and Mac stepping into the office, guns at the ready. He fired once, and both assailants scattered, taking cover to either side of the door.

"Holy shit, dude!" Mac said. "I thought you said there was no one in there!"

"That guy wasn't in there at the time!" Dennis yelled.

Paladin scowled. "If you leave now, you have a chance of living. There is no way you can get to me, not bottlenecked as you are."

"What did he say?"

"I don't know. I wasn't listening."

Zim's calf cramped up, and he realized that he was no longer in danger, so he stretched out both legs. As a result he accidentally knocked over a cup of water, which distracted Paladin for just a moment.

It turned out to be a crucial moment. Dennis and Mac both chose this moment to attack, purely by happenstance, and they were able to get a few shots off before Paladin could react. Mac fired wildly, sending most of his lead ricocheting all over the place, but one bullet managed to find Paladin's chest, dropping him to one knee. He let out a roar of pain, gripping his wound with his free hand. Dennis fired his last two bullets, and one of them went into the back door. The other also found Paladin's chest, and the gentleman gunfighter fell backwards, rolling over onto his stomach. His gun flew from his hand and skittered across the floor, far out of reach. He writhed for a moment, and then he stopped moving.

"We totally killed that guy!" Mac said. Grinning, he mimed firing his empty gun at Paladin's body.

Dennis walked into the back room with a swagger. "Guess this guy thought he was hot shit." He reached down to Paladin's body.

"Wait," Mac said. "Maybe I should give him an ocular pat-down first."

"Oh shut up." Dennis turned over Paladin's body.

Paladin jabbed his hand forward, and Dennis was shocked to see that it contained a tiny Derringer. It popped, and Dennis's belly opened, spilling blood down the front of his pants.

Zim reached between the bars and managed to get a hold of Paladin's gun. He'd seen enough movies to know how to fire a single-action revolver, so he drew the hammer back and fired at Dennis. He missed, and the bullet ricocheted off the wall and landed in Paladin's leg.

"Argh!" Paladin roared. He pulled the trigger of the Derringer again, and he sent another bullet into Dennis' belly.

Dennis fell backward, out of the room. When Mac saw what was going on, that one of the Zims had a gun, he grabbed Dennis under the arms and dragged him away. Zim didn't have a clear shot, and Paladin was out of bullets, so they managed to get away.

"Are you all right?" Zim asked.

Paladin looked down at his wounds, at the bloody mess of his black clothes. "Cris Zim, I believe I need a doctor."

Other Zim emerged from the fort of his cot. "Where are the keys?"

"They're on Chester's belt." Zim pointed. "Can you reach 'em?"

"I'll try," Other Zim said. He got down on the floor and stretched his hand out to Chester's belt, but he was drawing up just a little bit short.

"Paladin," Zim said, "can you help him?"

Paladin's eyes were not focused. It looked like he was about to pass out from the pain. He feebly moved one of his hands, but it was without direction and pointless.

Other Zim withdrew, and he broke a leg off of his cot, which he used to slide through the key ring on Chester's belt. Before long he had the keys and was shoving them one by one into the lock. On the third try, the door opened.

"Awesome!" Zim said. "Now get mine."

Other Zim looked at Chester's corpse, then to the badly wounded Paladin and up to Zim. Finally his eyes settled on the keys. He considered his options for a moment and then tossed the keys back into his cell. "Fuck that, buddy. I'm gettin' while the gettin's good. I don't know who you are, but you're on your own."

"At least get the doctor!" Zim shouted.

"Nope. Good luck."

Other Zim stepped out the door without a look back. Zim lifted Paladin's gun, aiming it at his ancestor, and he almost pulled the trigger before realizing what he was doing. With an angry roar, he threw the gun as hard as he could, and it landed in another cell, far from anybody's reach.

Then he remembered that Mac was still out there somewhere, unharmed, and he might consider coming back to finish the job on a weaponless Zim.

Zim grabbed the bars and shook them with all the might in his body. They did not give in the slightest, but Zim did. He gave in and sank to the floor, muttering under his breath about how much he hated the Old West. Why hadn't he just left well enough alone? Why did he have to take Fitz's flask? Somewhere Fitz was probably laughing it up, getting drunk, having fun, doing all the things that constantly eluded Zim.

This was Fitz's fault. Fitz shouldn't have left that flask thing out where anyone could grab it. If not for Fitz's stupid trip to the future, none of this would have happened.

Zim let out a tremendous sigh.

Meanwhile: Matt Dillon was too far out of Dodge City to have heard the gunshots. He was about a half-mile out when the skirmish had taken place, and all he heard was a distant rumble that could have been thunder.

He knew he was getting close to the camp when he smelled cow shit. The air was thick with the pungent odor, and it was almost enough to make Matt want to turn back. He soldiered on until he found himself zigzagging around beevs. It wasn't long before he found the camp itself. A few cowhands were lounging around, but one was standing by the fire, sipping from a tin cup of coffee and staring out at the longhorns.

"Howdy," Matt said. He took off his hat and wiped sweat from his forehead. "Hot day."

The man nodded. "I'm Gil Favor, trail boss. Can I help you?"

"I hope so. You're the man I came out here to see. Matt Dillon, U.S. Marshal." He dismounted and offered his hand.

Favor took it. "Nice to meet you, Marshal. What can I do for you? Coffee?"

"No thanks. I hear tell that some of your men were talking about starting some trouble with a fella by the name of Cris Zim."

"I heard the name. Killed a woman and her family, didn't he?"

"That's what he's been charged with," Matt said. "I met with your ramrod in town, and he had some of your men with him. Yates seems to be a responsible kind of man, but the others were pretty aggressive. One of them almost pulled a gun on me. I wanted to give you a warning to keep your men in line."

Favor nodded. "That shouldn't be a problem. I'm only interesting in pushing beevs, not causing trouble. The men know that."

"Some of them might need to be reminded," Matt said. "I also heard tell that a gunfighter by the name of Remington is traveling with you."

"Nope. No Remington."

"He might be using a fake name. Have you picked up any new hands recently?"

"Just three," Favor said. "Charlie Kelly, Dennis Reynolds and a man by the name of Mac. But those fellas aren't too bright. I don't think any of them would be a gunfighter."

"Know anything about them?"

"Just their names. They're good at their job, but they're not good at staying out of trouble."

Matt nodded. "All right. I didn't expect much, but thank you."

"I hope you find this Remington, Marshal," Favor said. He then straightened out as a thought occurred to him. "Wait a minute. We do have someone else traveling with us. He's not a drover, though."

"What's his name?"

"Frank something or other," Favor said. "He's moving out to Sedalia with his daughter Dee. That's their wagon over there." Favor pointed, and Matt saw a horribly squat bald man with thick spectacles looking down at them. A willowy woman with blonde hair who looked kind of like a bird stood next to him.

"Much obliged," Matt said. He started making his way toward the wagon. As he approached he watched the dwarf climb up into the covered wagon and out of sight. "Ma'am," the marshal said. He tipped his hat.

"Afternoon, Marshal," she said. "I'm Dee . . ." She sighed. "Dee Toboggan. Can I help you?"

"I'd like to talk with your father," Matt said.

"Just climb up into the wagon."

Matt nodded, and he went to the back of the wagon. He put his foot up on the gate, and just as he went to open the flaps, the barrel of a rifle emerged, aimed directly at his head. Instinct kicked in, and Matt slapped at the barrel, but not in time. There was a loud crack as Frank Toboggan pulled the trigger.

Meanwhile: in the doctor's office, Galen "Doc" Adams just finished up his duties as gynecologist for Miss Kitty Russell, owner of the Longbranch saloon. After having pronounced her healthy, he went to wash his hands while she got dressed.

"Thanks, Doc," she said. "The usual payment?"

"I'll stop by later for the whiskey," he said.

Doc finished drying his hands when the door to his office crashed open, and a wild-eyed young man rushed into the room, gun drawn. Kitty gasped, as she was still tying together her girdle, but this newcomer didn't seem to be interested in her. "Doc! Where are you?!"

Doc came out of the other room. "Can I help you, son?"

Mac thrust the gun into Doc's face. "My friends need your help. They've been shot and beaten, and I don't have time to argue with you."

"Get that thing out of my face," Doc said. "I'll go with you. I'm obliged to, so you don't have to threaten me. Just—"

Mac cocked the hammer back. "Quit talking and grab your bag."

Kitty, angry that her friend was being threatened, gave up on her girdle. "You have no call to threaten Doc."

Mac cracked her across the face with the back of his hand, and she fell to the floor, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth. She hit her head on the way down, and she was unconscious before she came to a stop.

"Kitty!" Doc tried to rush to her side, but Mac stepped between them.

"Forget the whore. My friends need you more." He laughed. "I'm a poet, and I don't . . . understand it."

"Fine," Doc said. He grabbed his bag. "Take me to your friends."

"They're downstairs. Help me get them up there."

"If they're shot, it might be a good idea to not move them. There could be internal injuries."

Mac was about to shout that he didn't care when Charlie appeared at the door with Dennis slung over his shoulder. "This the doctor?" Charlie asked.

"Charlie, you've got a head injury. You shouldn't be carrying Dennis."

"I feel fine," Charlie said. A bubble of blood came out of his nostrils when he said that.

"Come in," Doc said. He put on his spectacles. "Let's have a look at the two of you."

Charlie put Dennis down on the bed and sat down next to him while Mac closed and locked the door, keeping a watchful eye on the outside world. It was the perfect place to hold a couple of hostages, and he was afraid that they might be here a while.

Meanwhile: as Josh and Maverick headed out of the Longbranch and for their horses, they heard gunshots coming from the marshal's office. They rushed across the street just in time to see Mac dragging Dennis away and around the corner. Josh knew that Maverick wouldn't be much good in a fight. "Check the prisoners," he said. "I'll go after those two."

Maverick nodded and rushed into the marshal's office while Josh continued his pursuit. Just as Maverick stepped in he ran directly into Other Zim as he made his escape. The two collided, and Maverick fell backwards and to the side, where he landed on his broken arm. The pain was so intense that he blacked out immediately.

Other Zim looked both ways, then picked one at random. He went around the corner, having no idea that his assailants and Josh Randall had just gone that way. He didn't get very far before he almost literally ran into Josh.

Josh, who had given up on the chase because the trail had gone cold, turned around and was starting to head back to the marshal's office when he saw Other Zim running toward him. The prisoner looked up just in time to come to a screeching halt.

"Hold on there, son," Josh said. "Let's get you back into your cell before someone sees you."

Other Zim smiled. "You can't blame me for trying. Besides, those guys almost killed me."

Josh nodded. "Let's go."

By the time they were back at the office Maverick had stood up and grimaced as he repositioned his sling. He saw Other Zim and shook his head. "After everything we've tried to do to keep you safe," he said.

"Me?" Other Zim said. "Or the money you can get off of me?"

Maverick was about to go on when Josh held up a hand. "We'll save that argument for another day. Let's just lock him back up."

They entered the marshal's office, and the stink of gunsmoke and blood assailed them. They rushed to the back room to see Chester's body. Paladin sat with his back to the back door, breathing heavily.

"What happened here?" Maverick asked.

Paladin tried to speak, but he didn't have the energy for words.

"Welcome back, parasite," Zim said to his ancestor. "Good to see you."

Other Zim shrugged. "I don't want to be hanged. Do you blame me for trying to get away?"

"Yes. All you had to do was unlock my door."

"Enough, the both of you," Josh said. He bent down to examine Paladin's wounds. "These are pretty bad. Maverick, would you lock that guy up and then get the doctor?"

"Sure," Maverick said. "Come on, you." He pushed Other Zim into his cell, picked the keys up off the floor and locked him back in.

Josh tore up some sheets from the cot in one cell and folded them together as a bandage. He pressed down on the wounds and closed Paladin's shirt around them. "It's not much, but it'll do till the doc gets here."

Paladin nodded his thanks.

"Josh!" Maverick called out. "We have a problem!"

"Great," Josh said. "Just great." He stood and headed for the front office, bracing himself for whatever problem was going to come next.

Meanwhile: in the Longbranch Rowdy joined up with several fellow drovers, and they all wanted to hear the story of what had happened when he and the other guys confronted the marshal about the woman killer, Cris Zim. So he told the whole thing as he sipped at a whiskey, leaning against the bar. Even the gentlemen playing poker in the corner listened to his tale. Just as it was getting good, right at the point where Charlie was getting ready to draw down on the marshal, a man in a faded yellow shirt and a mare's leg strapped to his waist walked in and talked with one of the gamblers. The two then left the saloon.

It threw off Rowdy's story a little, but he got back to it readily. He retold about Charlie's hand, tight on the butt of his gun, and then, just as he was getting ready to draw . . . gunshots. Real ones, from across the street.

"What the hell is that?" Quince asked.

"Someone's shooting someone up," Pete Nolan, the scout, said. "Dodge is a rough town."

"No kidding," Wishbone said.

"Get back to the story, Rowdy," Joe Scarlett said.

"Anyway," Rowdy said. He told them the part about how the marshal had buffaloed Charlie and had ordered him and Mac and Dennis out of town.

"Wait, he did what?" Quince asked. After Rowdy repeated it, Quince shook his head. "Now, I don't like them fellas, but the marshal just can't go around beating up drovers. Especially in defense of a skunk like Zim."

"We should do something about it," Scarlett said. "I've had it with these cow towns looking down their noses at us."

"Calm down, everybody," Rowdy said. "We're drovers, not vigilantes. Let's just finish our drinks and get back to the herd."

"The herd can wait," Quince said. "That's good grazing ground over there. This won't take but a day."

"Why don't you explain that to Mr. Favor?" Rowdy asked.

"You know what I think?" Teddy said. "I think we should tree this town. They'll know not to mess with us drovers ever again after that."

There was a general sound of assent when Rowdy waved his hands up and down in a silencing gesture. "We're going back to our jobs. Let's go!"

The men ignored him except for Pete Nolan, who took up next to Rowdy at the bar. "I think we're going to have some trouble."

"Yeah, Quince's mouth's too big," Rowdy said.

"There's no way we're going to corral these men," Pete said. "Let's get Mr. Favor."

"That's a long ride, Pete. It'll take at least forty-five minutes."

"It's the best we can do."

Just then all the men drew their guns and started shooting at the ceiling. They poured out of the Longbranch and onto the streets, where they began to riot. They threw lassos up onto streetlight posts and pulled them down. Store windows shattered, and as they whooped and hollered, Dodge City began to burn.

"Let's get our horses," Rowdy said. The two of them rode hell-bent for leather back to their camp.

Meanwhile: Josh Randall looked out the front window to see that a group of drovers had gathered in front of the marshal's office. They held torches, and the leader of the pack held a noose in his hand.

"Send out Cris Zim!" Quince yelled. "We got a necktie party we want him to attend."

"Maybe we could give them one of 'em," Maverick said. "You know, the one who says he's from the future."

Josh shook his head. "Can't do that."

"You have five minutes!" Quince yelled. "If you don't give us Zim we'll burn this building to the ground!"

Zim heard the whole exchange, and he looked across the room to Other Zim. He looked to Chester's corpse and then to Paladin, who was undoubtedly dying. Josh was a good man; he knew the bounty hunter wouldn't give up either Zim to a lynch mob, but that meant they were going to be set on fire.

Could this situation get any worse?

"Oh fuck," Zim muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."


	13. Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

YES, ZIM, IT CAN

Frank Toboggan pulled the trigger, sending a bullet through Matt Dillon's foot. The marshal roared and fell back, but as he did he drew his revolver and fired. Frank cried out and dropped, clutching at his shoulder.

"Frank!" Dee cried. "What are you doing?! It's the marshal!"

"Shut up, Deandra!" Frank bellowed. "That's why I'm doing this! He's on to us! That's why he's here!"

Matt scrambled for cover behind a nearby deadwood log, balancing his gun on top of it. He squinted against the sun, trying to see inside the wagon, but it was pointless.

Gil Favor rushed up next to him, gun drawn. "What happened?"

"That Toboggan fella is Remington," Matt said. "He shot me in the foot."

"Let me take a look at it." Favor slid back, still laying down so as not to get shot. He poked around the wound a bit. "It looks bad."

"I'll deal with it later. Come on out, Toboggan! Drop the gun and show yourself! You don't have a chance!"

A wretched cackle came from inside the wagon. "I will as soon as you go bang yourself!"

Matt and Favor exchanged a glance. "Bang?" they said in unison.

"Frank!" Dee called out. "Just give it up! They're going to shoot you!" She tried to get into the back of the wagon, but Frank pushed her out so hard that she did a flip before coming to a halt, her clothes covered in mud and cow shit, a bruise already spreading on her face.

"Distract 'em!" Frank yelled. He unhitched the horses and took one of them, racing away.

"He really doesn't look like much," Favor said.

"Yeah, but he's treacherous." Matt tried to take a shot at Frank, but the wagon was in the way. "We'd better see about his daughter."

"Mushy!" Favor shouted. "Get Wishbone's doctor bag! And Heysoos! Get me my horse." He turned to Matt. "I'm going after that man."

Matt stood, gingerly putting his weight on his feet. He squinted after Frank. "He's too far off. We'll track him down. No need to put yourself at risk, Mr. Favor. This man is a professional gunfighter."

"That's all right," Favor said. "I've dealt with their kind before."

"Goddammit!" Dee said. She sat up, grimacing at the filth all over her. "He screwed me over again!"

Mushy approached with a black bag, and Favor took it from him, kneeling over the woman. "It's okay. I'm just going to give you a once over, ma'am."

Matt took a step on his bad foot only to feel pain shoot up his leg, nearly sending him down. He leaned against a tree as he watched Frank disappear over a distant hill. It looked like he was headed for Dodge.

Just then a scruffy man on a mule rode down that very same hill. As he drew closer Matt could make out a fuzzy beard on the man's face, and his clothes were covered in filth. By the time they were in shouting distance Matt could smell him, and it wasn't good.

"Which one'a yew's the marshal?" the man asked in a high-pitched twang.

"I'm Matt Dillon."

"Howdy, Matthew. M'name's Festus Haggen. I was just in Dodge when I saw that yew gots some trouble a'brewing."

"Oh?" For the first time Matt noticed that Josh Randall and Bret Maverick had not made it yet.

"There's a bunch'a trail hands a'hangin' around the jail, hollerin' for yer prisoner so's they can hang 'im good an' proper. I hear tell yer depity's been kilt, and that Pala-dine fella's been shot up pert' bad. Them drovers're gonna tree that town of yourn if they don't get yer prisoner."

It took Matt a moment to decipher the Appalachian accent, but when he did he felt all the blood drain from his face. "Chester's dead?"

"That's the fella," Festus said. "There're two fellas tryin' to hold the fort, but I don't think they're gonna' last long, Matthew."

Matt cleared his throat and set his jaw. There would be time for mourning later. "I'm going to need a deputy. Do you know how to fire a gun?"

"Golly Bill! I been shootin' critters since I was knee-high."

"Good," Matt said. He swore Festus in. When he was done he turned to Favor. "I'll need your help getting your men corralled."

Favor nodded and turned to Mushy. "Make Ms. Toboggan comfortable until we get back. Heysoos?"

"Yes, Mr. Favor." Heysoos offered the reins to a horse.

"Thanks. Simon's in charge of the herd until I get back, all right?"

"Of course, Mr. Favor."

Matt gritted his teeth as he mounted his horse. The throbbing pain in his foot increased as he lifted it over the horse's back. It was almost bad enough to drop him back down, but this wasn't the first time he'd been shot, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He was familiar with this kind of pain, and he dealt with it as best as he could. He led the way as Festus and Favor followed behind him.

Meanwhile: Maverick looked out the window at the mob, careful not to be seen himself. He kept to the side and moved the curtain just enough so he could get a good look. "You know, we could still go out the back door."

Josh smiled. "What about your money? You won't get any if they hang those Zims back there."

"I value my life more than money," Maverick said. "Not much more, of course, but definitely enough for me to flee out the back."

"He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day?"

"As my pappy used to say—"

Josh rolled his eyes. "I should have known."

"—a coward dies a thousand deaths, and a hero dies but one. A thousand to one is pretty good odds. All the same I wish it was my brother Bart here instead of me."

"You mean, there are more of you Mavericks?" Josh asked.

Maverick was about to answer when the mob got louder outside. Quince shouted, "Your five minutes're almost up! You'd better make up your mind soon, or I hope you like your britches on fire!"

"Listen," Josh called out. "We need a doctor in here. A fella's shot up bad, and it doesn't look like he's going to make it without a doctor. Send one in, and we'll negotiate."

Zim grabbed the bars. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course he is," Other Zim said. "Their lives are now in danger. They'll deliver us up with no compunction."

"What's 'compunction' mean?"

"Quiet back there," Josh said.

"Give us Zim first!" Quince yelled. "Then we'll get that doctor!"

"We only want him, anyway!" Joe Scarlett said. "Just give him to us, and we'll let you be!"

"No dice," Josh said.

"Then your time's up!" Quince yelled. "Send him out now!"

The thought occurred to Zim that they only needed one of them, and Other Zim was the one they really wanted. He could then just go on his way. But then he remembered that if Other Zim died, then Zim himself would probably wink out of existence. He sighed, thinking that maybe that wouldn't be quite so bad.

Josh drew his mare's leg and jacked a bullet into the chamber. "Stay back now, y'hear? Anyone does anything, you're going to die first, fella." He aimed at Quince.

"You can't get us all!" Teddy shouted.

"I can get some of you," Josh said. "You die next."

"Then you," Maverick said. He drew his gun and aimed at Joe Scarlett.

"I figure we can get six of you before you get us," Josh said. "Play it smart, fellas."

"Just let us out!" Zim called from the back room. "Let's go out the back way! There's no one there!"

"There is," Paladin murmured. He coughed up blood. Not much, but any amount looked pretty scary. "I can . . . hear someone moving . . . back there."

"Then I guess we're fucked," Other Zim said. He looked at Zim. "It was nice knowing you, even though you're batshit crazy."

"The pleasure was all yours," Zim said.

"Burn it!" Quince roared. Three torches flew up to the roof of the marshal's office.

Josh and Maverick tried to shoot them out of the sky, and they got two of them, but the third landed on the roof and flared up, spreading rapidly.

Meanwhile: at the side of the office one of the drovers managed to toss a torch between the bars into the jail. "Burn, Zim, burn!" he shouted.

The torch bounced off Zim's back and landed on the cot. He screamed as he watched the flames consume the sheets. Then he realized he was in a stone room, so as soon as the cot was done burning that would be it. He was going to be fine.

"Zim!" Other Zim shouted. "Your shirt's on fire!"

Zim's back felt suddenly hot, and he felt the flames start to spread upward. He reached behind himself and felt fire lick at his hands . . . as it spread to his head. He remembered that he'd put gel in his hair the day before. Maybe the dunking he'd taken in the trough had washed it out, but there had to be a remnant left.

His head exploded with a halo of fire. He screamed, "Oh fuck!"


	14. Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

ZIM ON FIRE

"Punch your head!" Other Zim shouted. "That should put out the fire!"

Zim was too far gone to hear anything. The only thing he understood at this point was that his head was on fire, and he didn't want it to be that way. He remembered stop-drop-and-roll, but would that work on his head?

"Hey idiot!" Other Zim yelled. "Punch your fucking head!"

Zim thought his own idea was worth trying, so he dropped to the stone floor and rolled around as hard as he could. The fire on his back went out immediately, but the fire in his hair spread from the back to the top until he could feel it baking his eyebrows.

Something struck him on his head several times, and he suddenly felt a lot cooler. He looked up to see Paladin had reached between the bars and had slapped the fire out. He wore a deep scowl on his face, as if he hated the fact that he'd needed to save Zim from his own stupidity. Paladin's mouth moved as he tried to say something, but nothing came out. Finally he slumped forward, unconscious.

"You look like shit," Other Zim said.

Zim felt his head and was dismayed to find that most of his hair was gone. His skin seemed to be intact, though, and it didn't feel like he'd suffered too badly. Then again he'd heard that third degree burns sometimes scorched out one's nerves so they couldn't feel any pain.

Up in the front office Josh and Maverick opened fire over the heads of the mob, hoping to scare them back. The cowhands were not frightened, and they started shooting with the intent to kill. Josh and Maverick jumped back as a barrage of bullets came through the window, sending shattered glass everywhere.

"That back door sound like a good idea now?" Maverick asked.

"I should have listened to my momma," Josh said. "She wanted me to be a preacher."

Meanwhile: just on the outskirts of town Matt Dillon, Gil Favor and Festus Haggen met up with Rowdy Yates and Pete Nolan, both riding hard for the drovers' camp.

"Rowdy," Gil yelled. "Pete! What's going on in town?!"

"The men are gonna tree this town," Rowdy said. "We sure are glad to see you, Mr. Favor."

"Marshal, show us the way to the jail."

Matt took the lead, and the others thundered after him as they headed for Fremont Street. Matt felt his belly grow cold as he saw the ruin that Dodge City had become thanks to the riot and the fire and the lunacy. There was no way Chester could have stopped any of this. He doubted that he, himself, would have been able to do anything. Still, he shouldn't have left Dodge like that, even if it was in pursuit of someone as dangerous as Remington.

They made a swift turn and found themselves about a block away from the marshal's office. Matt rode as quickly as he could, and he dismounted before the horse had even stopped. Pain shot up his leg, but he didn't have time for it. More important things were happening.

The other men dismounted behind them, and they advanced on the crowd outside of the office. At his point Favor rushed in front of the marshal and fired his gun into the sky. "STOP IT! ALL OF YOU!"

Some of the drovers stopped, but others didn't care enough to heed their boss's command. It looked like some of them were going to open fire on the office again. Favor yelled, "The next man who fires his gun is going to draw his pay!"

Quince turned around. "But boss, they have that Zim fella in there, and they ain't gonna hang him."

"Yeah," Joe Scarlett said. "He deserves to hang for what he done."

"Quince, Scarlett, you'll both be riding drag all the way to Sedalia if you don't back down NOW!"

Favor's voice was so commanding that a nearby stray dog retreated into an alleyway and whimpered. Quince and Scarlett holstered their weapons, and the rest of the men followed suit.

"Who's bright idea was this?" Favor asked.

No one opened their mouths. Rowdy wanted to sell Quince out, but he didn't want to be known as a squealer. Snitches, after all, get stitches.

Quince gave himself up: "It was me, Mr. Favor. I guess I got . . . carried away."

Favor looked at the flaming roof of the marshal's office and shook his head. "Carried away? Guess you _will_ be riding drag, Quince. For the next two weeks." He turned to the rest of the men. "All right, everyone. Pull together and start putting this fire out!"

They scrambled for the nearby trough, where Teddy pumped out water. Quince and Joe Scarlett got buckets and carried them down to the office. It didn't take long to put the fires out, and soon Dodge smoldered with smoke from the doused flames. Matt and Festus went around town, thumping heads when needed, but once the drovers had been shamed back into line it was easy to get the rest of the town under control.

Josh exchanged a glance with Maverick as the crowd dispersed, and the marshal's office stopped burning. "That's about as close as I ever want to cut it."

"I'm not even sure if it's real," Maverick said. "Are you sure we didn't get killed?"

Even though Zim was wounded from the fire he looked around at himself and out through the bars of his window, surprised to even be alive. He looked over to Other Zim. "Can you believe it?"

"No," Other Zim said. "They couldn't have given up this easily."

"How about you, Paladin?" Zim asked. He then remembered that the gentleman gunfighter was passed out. He shouted up to the front office. "Hey! Do you think we could get a doctor back here? I'm burnt up, and Paladin's been shot to shit!" He neglected to mention who had delivered the final bullet to the poor bastard.

Josh stepped out onto the boardwalk and looked around for the marshal. When he saw him across the street with a trail hand he shouted out the marshal's name. "We need a doctor in here!"

Matt rushed through the office and into the back room. There he hovered over Chester's corpse, looking it over, checking for a pulse. It was just . . . too late. The eyes had already been closed; all he could do was put a sheet over him.

He unlocked Zim's cell. "You saw where Doc's office is. You take Josh Randall, and you bring him right back here."

"Aren't you afraid that he's going to run away?" Other Zim asked.

"That's why I'm not sending _you_ ," Matt said. He turned to Zim. "Go on, now."

"Sure," Zim said. "Hey Josh! You hear what he just said?"

"Sure," Josh said. "Let's go."

Paladin groaned from the floor. Matt went to his side. "You're shot up bad, but we've got Doc on the way. He'll fix you up in no time."

Zim and Josh went out the door and rushed down the block, weaving through people trying to keep Dodge from getting any more damaged. They found the doctor's office, and they both took the stairs two at a time. They reached the top, and Josh held up a hand. "You'd better let me go first. Just in case."

"I've got no complaints about that," Zim said.

Josh rapped on the door. "Doc? You in there?"

Silence. Josh cursed and drew his mare's leg. "Stand back, Zim."

Zim backed down a few steps as Josh reared back and kicked through the door. He didn't get the chance to get a shot off as there was a loud crack, and Josh tumbled back, blood oozing from a wound in his head.

"Oh fuck!" Zim yelled.

Frank Toboggan stepped out of the doctor's office, his rifle at the ready. When he saw Zim he laughed. "Good work, boys! I expected you guys to screw the pooch, but it looks like this time you did it."

"Does that mean we get a bigger cut?" Mac asked.

Frank shrugged. "We'll negotiate later."

"That's all I ask, Frank."

Frank lifted his rifle and aimed it at Zim's head. "So long, boy. Hello, paycheck." And he pulled the trigger.


	15. Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

THE FEMALE OF THE SPECIES . . .

Josh Randall was used to being shot in the head, and as per usual it was just a graze. He would have another groove in his skull, but compared to the others, so what? He reacted as quickly as he could by thrusting his leg up to meet Frank's rifle just as it was being fired. Instead of blowing Zim's brains out the bullet plowed into the wall, where it cut through the thin wood and ended up in Dennis's chest.

"Holy shit, Frank!" Mac shouted. "You killed Dennis! I don't think he's breathing, dude!"

"If he is, he's, like, breathing blood," Charlie said. He hovered over Dennis's bullet-riddled body. "That would be awesome. It's almost like being a fish."

"Oh my God," Mac said. "Shut up, Charlie."

Josh pushed himself up to his knees and tried to buffalo Frank, but the dwarf gunfighter was too quick; he leaped back and closed the door, taking cover as quickly as he could.

Josh turned to Zim. "Quick. Go get help."

"Don't come in here!" Mac shouted. "We have hostages!"

"Doc!" Josh called out. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," Doc grumbled. "Kitty's hurt, though."

"Kitty? You're not alone?"

"Kitty Russell from the Longbranch is in here with me."

"Shut up!" Frank yelled. "Yeah, we got hostages. Don't fuck with us."

"Okay," Josh said. "Take it easy. Let's try to do this without anyone getting shot."

"Give us Zim, and we'll let these people go," Frank said. "I promise." There was a cackle from within the office, and it sounded like the other two had joined in with the laughter. It sounded . . . less than earnest.

Zim rushed back to the marshal's office, where he burst in and found Matt trying to stop Paladin from bleeding to death. Favor and Rowdy stood by while Maverick averted his eyes, pretending to keep an eye on the street.

"Marshal," Zim said. "There's trouble at the doctor's office."

Matt stood. "What's going on?"

Zim quickly explained the situation, and when he mentioned the dwarf referred to as Frank, Matt's eyes narrowed. "Short fella, you say? Name of Frank?"

"That's the guy," Zim said.

"You're a lucky man, Zim. That was none other than Remington himself."

Zim paled, and he felt like he needed to take a shit, but he managed to keep it together. "That's the guy who's been out to kill me?"

"You mean me," Other Zim said.

"Favor, do you think you can get your men together?" Matt asked. "I'm going to need help saving Doc and Kitty."

"Sure thing, Marshal," Favor said. "Rowdy, get as many of the men together as you can get."

"You got it, boss." Rowdy rushed off into the streets.

"Very few people know about the back way into Doc's place," Matt said. "I think only myself and Doc and Pronsias, who owns the store. Maybe Chester knew, but that's it. We're going to sneak up through the building while Josh distracts them from the stairs. We'll bust in, take 'em by surprise and that will be that. Understood?"

Favor nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Maverick," Matt said, "you look after this Zim and Paladin. Try to keep Paladin awake."

Maverick looked at the puddle of blood around Paladin's barely conscious body and gulped. "Uh . . . all right, Marshal. Try to make it fast."

Rowdy returned with Pete, Quince, Joe Scarlett and Teddy. "It's the best I could do, Mr. Favor," the ramrod said.

"That's fine, Rowdy. I'm sure it's all we'll need."

"Let's go," Matt said. "Zim, you come with me. I want to make sure we keep an eye on you."

Zim didn't relish going back to what would undoubtedly turn into a blood bath, but it was better than the alternative, which was sitting in a cell in the marshal's office, waiting for whoever wanted to kill him next.

Matt led the way through back alleys until they wound up behind Doc's building. There was a shoe shop on the ground floor. They took the back door into the shop, and they went to the set of stairs inside. Matt then waved Zim to the back of the line, and they began to walk single-file up to Doc's office, Matt first, then Favor, Rowdy and the other men.

Matt stopped in front of Doc's door and quietly tried the knob. It was open, which was a good sign. He thought that if he had to bust the door down, there were three rooms they had to go through before getting to the room where the hostages were. He could hear Frank and his men taunting Josh Randall, who kept them busy with his own banter. It was hard to hear what they were saying, exactly, but what did it matter? It was time to put them in jail or on Boot Hill.

Matt pushed the door open, and he stepped as lightly as he could as he made his way through the greeting room to the living room and finally into the kitchen. Matt then rushed into the examination room, his gun drawn, Favor's men behind him. "Hold it!" he roared.

The sight before him made him sick to his stomach. Mac held a gun to Doc's head as the doctor worked feverishly on Frank's shoulder, where Matt had shot him earlier. In a corner Charlie knelt between Kitty's legs, slapping her left and right as she cried her eyes out. She tried clawing at Charlie, but it was like he felt no pain.

Frank didn't hesitate. "Fire!" He whirled around, Doc's tools still stuck in him, and fired at the newcomers. Mac joined in the assault, but Charlie was too busy with Kitty.

"Jesus Christ, Charlie!" Frank yelled. "Help us out!"

"It's no use, Frank!" Mac shouted. "Once he's in the zone, there's no talking to him!"

The air filled with buzzing lead as everyone ducked for cover. Zim, who had heard the beginning of the skirmish, thought it would be prudent to back down the stairs and wait in the shoe shop for everything to be over. He had faith in the marshal and Favor's men. Besides, there was no way Zim would be able to sway the tide of battle.

Frank exhausted his rifle cartridges quickly, so he drew his pistol and began firing with more accuracy. With his first bullet he shot Gil Favor in the face, killing the trail boss before he hit the floor. Rowdy roared and emptied his revolver at Frank, filling the dwarf with so much lead that the coroner later refused to remove it all because it was too much work.

Matt didn't notice. He leaped through the battle until he'd reached Charlie. He jammed the barrel of his revolver against Charlie's throat and pushed him to the floor. He'd intended to arrest the madman, but Charlie had other ideas. He moved his gun forward into Matt's belly. Matt pulled the trigger before Charlie could, sending blood and bone all over the floor. Charlie, barely alive, still gagged, trying to catch his breath through the very large hole in his throat. All he could breathe was blood and gunsmoke, and he didn't do that for much longer.

Josh burst in through the other door and shot Mac several times in the back while Rowdy and his crew shot Mac more than several times in the front. The gunman twirled around, spraying blood from about fifty bullet wounds, before he dropped into a pile of limbs, dead.

The air was hazy as Rowdy and his men approached Gil Favor's corpse. They stared down at their boss, unable to believe he was dead. In the corner Matt helped Kitty to her feet, and she threw her arms around him. "Oh Matt! I thought they were going to kill us!"

He patted her back. "It's all right, Kitty. They're dead."

Doc crawled out from behind a chair, where he'd taken cover. "Matt, your foot. It's bleeding pretty bad."

"Yeah, but I can take it, Doc. There's a fella down at the jail who needs you more than I do."

"Let me just take a quick look. Get up on my table."

"Now, Doc, I'm telling you I can wait. Let's go to the jail."

"Gosh darn it, Matt! You could wind up limping for the rest of your life, you durned fool!"

"Then I limp. Paladin needs medical attention. You can fix my foot later."

"Fine!" Doc grabbed his bag. "Let's go."

Josh accompanied them as they left, leaving the drovers to look after their dead. "Mr. Favor wanted to be sent back east to be buried," Pete said. "He told me once. He wanted to be buried on his family plot back in Philadelphia."

"I reckon you're right," Rowdy said. He scratched his cheek. "I can't believe he's dead."

"Teddy, go fetch the undertaker," Pete said. "And Quince, you go to the train station and make arrangements for Mr. Favor's body to be sent to Philly."

The two drovers went off, leaving Rowdy, Pete and Joe Scarlett to look down at the corpse of their boss. Pete took a sheet from the doctor's examination table and laid it over Gil Favor. "I guess this means you're trail boss now, Rowdy."

"I hope I can live up to the job," Rowdy said. "Mr. Favor's shoes were pretty big."

Pete squeezed Rowdy's shoulder. Soon the arrangements were made for Favor to be sent back east, and the drovers rode back out to the herd, where Rowdy mounted his horse and shouted to his men the very words that Favor always used: "HEAD 'EM UP! MOVE 'EM OUT!"

But it just wasn't the same. Every drover thought this as they started moving beevs and rode their way out of our story.

Meanwhile, before any of this happened, Zim noticed Matt, Doc, Kitty and Josh clopping down the outside stairs up to Doc's place and heading back to the marshal's office. He rushed to follow after them, so he was there when they all walked into the jail and saw the same thing at the same time.

Maverick and Paladin were locked up in one cell. The former was standing at the bars, his free hand clutching one of them as he sighed, rolling his eyes. The latter was laid out on the cot, which was now stained with blood.

Other Zim's cell door was open, and he was gone.

Matt rushed to unlock Maverick's cell, and Doc rushed in to help Paladin. "What happened here?" the marshal asked the gambler.

"It turns out that you were wrong about Remington," Maverick said. "Some woman claiming to be Frank Toboggan's daughter came in here and held us at gunpoint. She then freed that Zim—" Pointing to Other Zim's cell. "—and made off with him. When I mentioned what was going on with her father, she laughed and asked me if I really thought that a killer with Remington's reputation was a man."

"So Deandra Toboggan is really Remington?" Josh asked.

"And she has Zim?" Matt asked.

"She could be killing him this very moment," Maverick said.

Zim felt his stomach twisting inside of him, and he wanted to shit, puke and go blind all at once. "Oh fuck," he moaned.


	16. Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

GREAT SCOTT!

Festus Haggen burst into the marshal's office, huffing and puffing, trying to catch his breath. "Matthew! I jest saw some lady makin' off with the fella's supposed to be in lock up."

"Which way did they go, Festus?" Matt asked.

"They went thataway." Festus pointed. "They was kinder on the fast side, so's I couldn't foller 'em."

"You did good," Matt said. "Thank you." He turned to everyone else. "All right, folks. We're in a difficult spot. They went across the tracks and into the other side of town, which is kind of a maze. There's no telling where they are. I'm going to need each and every one of you to help find Zim before he gets killed."

"But Marshal, I—" Maverick said. He waved his broken arm.

"You still have one good arm, and you have a gun. You're coming with us."

"I'm fine with that," Josh said.

Barney Danches rushed into the marshal's office. "Bad news, Marshal." He presented a folded piece of paper.

"When it rains, it storms." Matt took it. It was a telegram from Ft. Dodge warning him of a possible Kiowa uprising. They probably weren't headed to Dodge City, but it always paid to be careful. He flipped Barney a coin and dropped the paper on his desk.

"But, the Injuns," Barney said.

"No time to worry about it now," Matt said.

"If you say so." Barney went out the door.

"Zim," Matt said, "do you have a gun?"

"Fitz has a gun," Zim said. Then he slapped his forehead. "But he's in the future, so . . ."

Matt went over to the gun rack, passed up the rifles and selected a cheap revolver. He loaded it and handed the butt to Zim along with a few extra cartridges. "You know how to fire this?"

"I've seen movies," Zim said.

"What?"

"Don't ask," Josh said. He had a lopsided grin on his face.

"If you need help," Matt said, "don't hesitate to shout."

"I'll probably scream," Zim muttered. The gun was heavier than he thought it would be. He didn't think there was a chance of him firing it without breaking his wrists. Maybe he'd just be able to scare the woman away. Women were good at avoiding him.

"All right, everyone," Matt said. "Move out. And try to take Dee Toboggan alive."

Everyone went filing out into the streets and across the tracks to the rich side of town. Things were a bit brighter and nicer over here. None of the flames that had threatened the red light district made it over here, and everything seemed to be intact. After starting off as a group, they split up and took different side streets. Soon Zim found himself alone for the first time since he'd begun this adventure, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He considered running away, but if Dee killed Other Zim, then Zim himself would die. It was one of the worst messes he'd ever been in, even worse than the ordeal with Krimskep.

He turned the corner, gun hanging near his thigh, when he ran full force into another person, knocking the rail-thin fellow down so his hat fell off. "Sorry," Zim said. He didn't bother to look at the guy who was now on the ground. He kept moving.

"Like, could you help me up?" the stranger asked. He held out his hand.

When Zim turned to look at him, he nearly screamed. "You're dead," he whispered.

"What? No. You just knocked the wind out of me." He started standing up on his own, and the sun fell full on his face. Except for a droopy mustache, it was like Zim was looking at an exact copy of the man.

"This can't be," Zim said. "Are you DD?"

"Yeah, but most folks call me Mad Dog DD. I, like, kill people." He touched the butt of his gun. "So maybe you should, like, buy me a drink. You know, to make up for knocking me over."

"Maybe next time," Zim said. "I'm busy right now."

Mad Dog DD shot up from the ground and stepped in front of Zim. "I see you have a gun. Wanna fight?"

"Look, if I don't find my ancestor, he's going to get killed. Which means I'm never going to be born. So I have to go, okay? Get out of my way."

DD's hand hovered by his gun as he crouched and started to back away, ready to draw down. "It's your move, man. Or you can just buy me a drink. Your choice."

"Jesus," Zim said. "All you DD's are the same. What the fuck is wrong with you people? Inbreeding? Or did someone punch the first DD so hard in the head that all of his descendants turned out to be retarded?"

DD grinned, showing off a mouthful of crooked, jagged teeth. "I don't know what you said, but I don't like the way you said it. You'd better, like, buy me two drinks now, or I'm going to shoot you. I've killed, like, fifteen guys, you know. That doesn't include Injuns and Messicans."

"Will you just shut the fuck up and let me by?" Zim asked.

"Stop cursing at me," DD said. "Now you have to buy me, like, three dr—"

Zim shot Mad Dog DD in the head, knocking what passed for his brains out the back of his skull. There wasn't a considerable mess. There was blood and bone, sure, but not a lot of gray matter. At first Zim thought he'd feel bad for killing a man, but then he remembered that DD wasn't really a man. He wasn't really a person, either. So it was kind of like swatting a fly.

He went on his way.

Zim had gone three blocks before someone leaped out of an alleyway at him and grabbed him by the collar. "GREAT SCOTT! I'VE FINALLY FOUND YOU!"

Zim was so startled that he dropped the gun. The man's wild white hair was what first got his attention, but when he saw the rest of the face he recognized the stranger as Doc Brown, the crazy guy who had brought Fitz to the future. "What's up, Doc?" he said.

"We have no time for small talk, Zim! I don't have enough time to express how much of a fool you are!"

"That's kind of rude," Zim said. "I barely know you."

"I know enough about you! You have no idea what you've done by using the miniature time machine I gave your friend!"

"It was an accident," Zim said. "How was I to know that it wasn't a flask?"

"By coming back to this time, you have doomed yourself! In the original history your ancestor, Cris Zim, was tried for murder and found innocent! He was ostracized, but he was never killed! If things keep going the way they are, he's going to be killed by Dee Toboggan, otherwise known as Remington, and YOU WILL CEASE TO EXIST!"

"I got that part, Doc," Zim said. "Maybe—"

"Shut up! There's more! Because you took the time machine, it was not there when Fitz and Brandon needed it the most! An alien drug dealer chased them down and killed them both! Because Fitz is dead, he will never father the child who will eventually turn the world into a utopian paradise, forever and always! You've doomed the world, Zim!"

"Fitz and Brandon are dead?" Zim asked.

"Yes! Because of you!"

Thinking of Fitz and the rent, should he ever return to his time: "That sucks." _Ha-ha, Brandon_ , he thought. _Got you at last_.

"Yes! It sucks! But it's not too late! We can still save everyone!"

"Maybe if I didn't exist I wouldn't screw things up for Fitz," Zim said.

"This is true! However, if you don't exist, then Krimskep enslaves all of humanity! You won't be there to save the world from him!"

"Shit," Zim said. "What can we do?"

"We have to find your ancestor and save his life! If he goes to trial, he'll be found not guilty, and you will not cease to exist!"

"But how will we get back to the future?"

"I have the DeLorean hidden out in the wilderness!" Doc Brown yelled. "Once we fix this problem we can go back to your present, at which point we can kill the alien before he kills your friends!"

"Well, Brandon's not really a friend. He's just a guy who fucks with me all the time."

"We don't have time to argue! We—!" He paused and looked at his watch. "Great Scott! The other Zim is going to die in less than a minute! We have to hurry!"

"Which way?" Zim asked.

Doc Brown quickly looked up at the sun, turned around several times and then pointed. "That way! Quickly!"

Zim ran as fast as he could, which was surprisingly fast. He tried to avoid exercising whenever he could, but he still managed to jog on a semi-regular basis.

He made a quick turn and found himself in a small park. Other Zim was kneeling in the middle of a flower bed, tears streaking down his face. Dee stood over him, a grimace on her face as she brought the gun up to Other Zim's head. She was saying something, but Zim was too far away to hear it. From the look on her face she was gloating.

Zim brought his gun up. It would be a tough shot, but he knew he could make it. That was when he noticed his left hand was fading away. He could see through it as if he was disappearing from existence already. "Oh fuck," he whispered. He thought about how much sooner he could have been here if he hadn't been waylaid by Mad Dog DD, and he cursed the world. There was only one thing to do.

His hand tightened on the butt of the gun, but just before it fired, his right hand faded away. The gun fell through his ghostly hand and struck the ground.

The air filled with a single gunshot, and Zim felt himself draining away into oblivion.


	17. Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

OH FUCK!

As the gun landed on the ground, it went off, sending a bullet across the park and into Dee's gun, knocking it aside just as she pulled the trigger. Other Zim screamed and covered his face with both hands, but the bullet missed him by ten yards. He fell to the ground in a fetal position, weeping.

"Holy shit!" Zim cried. "I saved the day!" But his hand was still transparent, and it looked like it was spreading to the rest of his body. His fingers were already gone. "No! This can't happen! Not like this!"

Dee shook her head in disgust. "This changes nothing." And she aimed the gun back at Other Zim's covered, trembling head. She cocked it. "So long, Zim."

"Great Scott!" Doc Brown yelled. He leaped for Zim's gun, but he was too slow and clumsy. By the time he had the gun pointed in the right direction, Dee had pulled the trigger.

Except, instead of a gunshot, there was an explosion. Dee's gun came apart with a blast, and shrapnel shredded her hand. Only then did Zim realize what had happened. His bullet had bent the barrel of Dee's gun, and when she fired at Other Zim it had caused the explosion that destroyed her hand.

"Jesus Christ!" she screamed. "Goddammit! Goddammit! Goddammit! That hurts!" She grabbed her ruined hand as blood gushed from her wounds. Three of her fingers were on the grass, and her thumb hung on by a thread.

"Great Caesar's Ghost!" Doc Brown exclaimed. Staring at her ruined hand, he quickly became pale and passed out next to Zim.

Zim noticed none of this. He was too busy looking at himself, amazed that he was once again solid. He tried to say something—anything—but he was too shocked to utter anything more than a moan. Then: "I'm alive! Holy shit, I'm alive!"

"Oh, fuck you!" Dee yelled. This took the last of her energy, and she collapsed, releasing her wrist. She bled out and expired without anyone taking notice.

Other Zim looked up at Dee, then over to Zim and Doc Brown, and as soon as he realized he, too, was still alive he leaped to his feet and ran away. Zim watched as his ancestor dashed around a corner and presumably out of his life.

But seconds later Other Zim backed into Zim's view, and he saw Josh Randall and Bret Maverick follow him. "Going somewhere, Zim?" Maverick asked.

"Not really," Other Zim said. "I thought I'd just stretch my legs."

"You're still wanted, friend," Josh said. "You're going to stand trial, Zim."

"Oh, come on," Other Zim said. "After all we've been through together?"

Maverick waved his broken arm. " _Especially_ after everything we've been through together."

Josh turned to Maverick. "Let's get him back to the marshal so we can collect the reward."

"Now, hold on just a minute," Maverick said. "I'm the one who brought him in in the first place. The reward is mine."

Josh pursed his lips and scratched his chin. "I guess so. Good luck getting him back to the jail." He holstered his mare's leg and started walking away.

Other Zim smiled, ready to run for it. Maverick knew he would never catch Other Zim again, so he sighed. "Fine, Josh. I'll split the reward. Now give me a hand, all right?"

"Sure," Josh said.

"Sixty-forty," Maverick said. "I get sixty because I brought him in. first."

"Fifty-fifty."

"But I got shot because of this! Fifty-five, forty-five."

"Oh, all right. I can live with that. Let's go."

"What about that other Zim?" Maverick pointed to Zim.

"We don't need him," Josh said. "I think we both know that this is the Zim we need."

"Think he's really from the future?"

"Maybe. Who knows? I'm sick of the mystery, to be honest. I figure I'd better shuffle out of this story before I join the rest of you in getting shot."

"Good point," Maverick said. "Let's get out of here."

Zim watched them drag Other Zim away. He wondered if this was really over. What if Other Zim was found guilty and they hanged him before he could reproduce? He turned to Doc Brown to ask him, but the scientist was still unconscious. "Wake up," Zim said. He gave him a slap for good measure.

Doc Brown's eyes popped wide open, and he swiftly sat up like his upper body was on a hinge. "Great Scott, Zim! You're alive! And whole! The timeline has been restored!" He jumped to his feet and yanked Zim toward him. The two did a wild jig, but only Doc Brown's heart was in it. He practically flung Zim like a doll as he danced.

"What if my ancestor is found guilty?" Zim asked. "What if he gets executed before he can reproduce?"

"Impossible!" Doc Brown pulled out what looked like an iPhone and started pressing multicolored buttons. "Ziggy says that he's found not guilty! The Texans still ostracize him, so he moves into the desert where he eventually meets a teenaged wanderer at the age of fifty-seven! She falls asleep, at which point he mates with her! She eventually gives birth to your great-grandfather! Everything's going to be fine!"

"Sweet," Zim said. It never occurred to him to ask who Ziggy is, but the name sounded familiar. Why did it remind him of Dean Stockwell?

"We must go back to the future!" Doc yelled. He froze, pointing off into the distance, an intense look on his face. Zim opened his mouth to ask what he was looking at when Doc Brown snapped back. "We must save Fitz and Brandon from the drug-dealing alien! Hurry!"

Zim touched his bald, slightly burned head. "I think I need medical attention."

"We'll get you a doctor in the future! Hurry!"

Doc Brown grabbed Zim's arm, and the two of them rushed back the way they had come. He led them to a horse, and Doc Brown swung up into the saddle. "Hurry, Zim!" He offered his hand to help his companion.

"Hold on, dude," Zim said. "I am _not_ riding bitch."

"We don't have time for this!"

"No way," Zim said. "I don't want anyone to think I'm gay."

"Lives are at stake!"

"I don't care. Get me another horse."

"There is no other horse! If you'd like to ride in front, I don't care! We must hurry!"

"That's still pretty gay," Zim said.

"Great Scott, Zim! You're the dimmest bulb I have ever encountered! I'm taking you back to your time! The very thing you've wanted more than anything else during the course of this adventure! And now you want to quibble over details! Small details!"

Zim sighed. Doc Brown made a good point. This was his ticket back to 2016. "Fine. Let's go." He took Doc Brown's hand and hopped up onto the back of the horse. He didn't want to put his hands on the scientist's waist, so he braced himself by holding on to the horse's ass.

Doc Brown dug in his spurs, and the horse launched itself forward. Zim gasped and almost lost his grip on the horse. Finally, after nearly getting thrown off, he relented and grabbed Doc Brown's waist. Zim held on for dear life.

"Just in case something happens to me," Doc Brown yelled against the wind, "I have the DeLorean set to return you to the evening you left! The key is hidden in the front wheel well! The door is unlocked! You have to get the vehicle up to 88 miles per hour before it will send you back to the future!"

"Okay!" Zim yelled.

They were now out of town, and five minutes later they approached a rise in the prairie. "It's parked in a cave on the other side!" Doc Brown yelled. "We'll reach it in about a minute!"

They breasted the hill, and what they saw made Doc Brown yank on the reins, bringing the horse to a skidding halt. Hundreds of Kiowa marched across the prairie in their finest war paint, blond scalps hanging from their spears and saddles.

"Shit," Zim said. "I forgot. The marshal got a telegram warning us about this."

"A telegram?!" Doc Brown yelled. "Why didn't you tell me this before?! This would have been useful information!"

"It slipped my mind. Anyway, where's the DeLorean? We don't have to go through them to get to it, do we?"

"No! It's right down there!" Doc Brown pointed to a cave about half of a football field away.

Zim looked up and saw that the Kiowa had noticed them, and some riders already headed in their direction. "Those guys are fast. We'll never make it."

"We must try!" Doc Brown spurred the horse forward, and they rushed down the slope toward the cave.

Zim clutched at his companion, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't topple off the back of the horse. The Kiowa behind them started chirping their war cry, and arrows flew around them. Zim crouched down so as to make the smallest target possible, and he did it just in time. An arrow appeared where his head had been mere seconds ago.

Unfortunately his head had been nestled against Doc Brown's spine. The scientist gave a cry as blood ran down his back. His body went limp and started sliding off the horse.

"OH FUCK!" Zim screamed.


	18. Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

BACK TO WHAT FUTURE?

Doc Brown gave a desperate cry as he toppled off the horse. Zim released the scientist so he wouldn't fall after him, but now he was riding the back of a runaway horse, and he had no idea how to fix this problem. The reins dangled and knocked against the ground, and he could feel himself slowly slipping off the back of the horse's ass. There was one thing to do.

Zim pushed himself forward into the saddle and, holding on to the horn with one hand, he reached forward and tried to grasp for the reins. He managed to get one before he tried to get the other. Arrows sailed around him, and three landed in the back flank of the horse. If the horse felt it, it didn't show any sign.

Zim got the other rein just as an arrow pierced his shirt sleeve, opening a slight cut in his shoulder. It wasn't much, and he wouldn't feel it until much later, but the sight of an arrow in such a place freaked the shit out of him. He screamed and almost fell off the horse.

When he did this, he managed to get a look behind him. Some of the Kiowa had gathered around Doc Brown, and they cut into him viciously with their stone knives. One of them had already scalped him and held the swatch of hair held high to the Four Winds.

Doc Brown caught a glimpse of Zim. "Don't! Keep going! Forget about me!"

Zim never had any intention of going back to save Doc Brown. He'd already forgotten about him now that there were three Kiowa hot on his trail, firing arrows. The cave drew closer on the left, so now he had to figure out how to stop the horse. In the movies you were supposed to yank back on the reins, so that's what Zim did. They were going so fast that the horse responded poorly. They came to a skidding halt, but Zim had pulled so hard that the horse reared up and flipped over. Zim was thrown, and he rolled out of the way before the horse could roll over on him.

An arrow thumped down between Zim's legs, and he pushed himself up to make a break for the cave. There was the DeLorean, covered with a tarp, which Zim ripped away as soon as he could. He reached into the wheel well and grabbed the key before opening the door and jumping in. Arrows thudded at the ground where he'd been standing, and one clanked against the hood of the car.

Zim was running out of time. He jammed the key home, and the car roared to life. The Flux Capacitor flared up, and the datelines on the dashboard blinked on. Everything was working perfectly. Zim gave a sigh of relief, as he'd thought that whatever cruel god had sent him back to the Old West would surely have made something malfunction at the last second.

Arrows sailed into the cave and clattered against the windshield. One of them spider webbed the driver's side, so he could barely see through it. "Goddammit!" he yelled. "Leave me alone!"

He stepped on the gas, and the DeLorean leapt forward, running over all three of the Kiowa, killing them in one fell swoop. The rest of the Kiowa took a break from cutting up Doc Brown to watch in awe as the vehicle, a miniature iron horse, sped out of the cave. They gasped at this seeming impossibility, and they felt honored and terrified to be in the presence of such a great and terrible god.

Doc Brown, who still had one eye left, watched as the DeLorean made its escape. _Thank God I saved the future_ , he thought. He looked around at the Kiowa who surrounded him, and if he still had lips left he would have smiled. When he was a kid he'd always wanted to live in the Wild West, and here he was, dying at the hands of Indians. How cool is that?

When the DeLorean rolled out of sight the Kiowa returned to the matter at hand . . .

Meanwhile: Zim sped along at 55 mph, trying to peer through the cracked windshield. In the rearview mirror he saw that the rest of the Kiowa had decided to give chase, all except the ones who were too busy killing Doc Brown. They weren't firing their arrows, but they were still a formidable force. Zim stomped on the gas.

And that was when he saw the canyon ahead. The cliff quickly approached, and there was no way he could swerve or stop to avoid it. He was only at 65 mph now. He'd never make it to 88.

"Shit," he said. This was it. He really was going to die in the Old West. After all this effort.

And then he remembered that this fucking car could fly. But how? He looked at the buttons, trying to find the one that would help him. But nothing was labeled. How in hell did Doc Brown know what did what?

In a fit of frustration Zim pushed every button he could find as the cliff came closer. 75 mph. "Come on!" he yelled. "One of you makes this goddam thing fly!" Now he punched them all with his knuckles. "Work, you motherfucker! Work!"

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the cliff disappear under the hood of the car, and his stomach sank as the DeLorean went over the edge. Now he had a great look at the bottom of the canyon, and it looked far enough down to crush this car like a soda can with him in it. He screamed as he punched the buttons harder. "OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKK!"

Something shifted under the car, and the boosters kicked in. The next thing he knew he sailed across the canyon on nothing but air. "YES! FINALLY! Something is working in my favor!"

The speedometer rapidly climbed up from 80. 81. 82. Zim's heart fluttered as he hit 85. 86. 87.

88.

Sparks flew. The world around him warped, and the hairs on Zim's arms stood on end. Electricity crackled between his teeth as the Old West vanished around him, and the space/time continuum swallowed him whole.

Meanwhile, in the present: Fitz and Brandon burst into Fitz's bedroom, and Fitz leaped for the time travel device that Doc Brown had left him, only to find his night table bare. "Zim! Were you in my room?"

No answer.

"Fuck," Brandon said. "What are we going to do?"

"ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!" Fitz roared.

A sudden explosion rocked the outside of Fitz's window, and the force of it was so intense that it shattered the glass, sending shards all over his bedroom. He got his hand up just in time to shield his face. Brandon stood far enough back to not have gotten hit at all.

"Holy shit, Fitz! Look at this!"

Fitz dropped his hand and went to the broken window, where Brandon peered out. He pointed, and Fitz followed his finger to see Doc Brown's DeLorean. It had torn through the sidewalk and the lawn, leaving twin trails of fire and had apparently plowed into the drug-dealing alien. Both traveled for a little while before the car had crashed into the building, cutting the alien in two at the waist.

"Holy shit!" Fitz said.

The alien's cataract eyes bulged as fluid dripped from his gaping mouth. "I . . . come . . . in . . ." He couldn't finish. His head thumped down on the hood, and all movement stopped.

"Doc Brown saved the day," Fitz said. "I knew he wouldn't let us down."

Brandon lifted an eyebrow. "This was a part of your plan?"

"Of course," Fitz said. "You have a lot to learn, young padawan."

"You're just being the Palp," Brandon said.

Fitz grinned and jumped through his window. Brandon followed. Both rushed over to the DeLorean, which was clearly totaled. The hood had been accordioned up to the steering wheel, and smoke and fluid gushed from under its remains. There was no way this thing would ever travel through time again. Doc Brown had sacrificed his greatest invention to save Fitz and Brandon.

Fitz ran up to the car and popped the door. It eased up, and both he and Brandon were shocked to see who emerged from the driver's seat. "ZIM?!" they cried out in unison.

"What happened to your hair?" Brandon asked.

Fitz ignored him. "YOU saved us?"

"Hey guys," Zim said. "You would not believe the last couple of days I've had."

"I saw you yesterday," Fitz said.

"Yeah, but I traveled in time, and I've been gone for two days. Whatever. It doesn't matter. I just want to get something to eat. Are you guys up for Tapateos?"

"Actually, Tapateos sounds like a good idea right now," Brandon said. "I'm fucking hungry."

"What about the alien?" Zim asked. "And the DeLorean?"

As soon as he said this the DeLorean fell to pieces, as if it had only been held together by Elmer's Glue and a prayer. They all stared at the parts and the tires and the alien who still was pinned to the wall.

"At least time has been put back together again," Zim said. "No one needs to travel through time again."

"Fuck it," Fitz said. "Let's let the cops clean this shit up. I want tacos."

They were just about to head over to the Falcon when something large flew over their heads. It moved slowly, and it was difficult to see in the dark. When the large object descended from the sky it was illuminated by the street lights, and Zim saw it was a giant stone head with a gaping mouth.

Only then did Zim see the gathering of horses and the men clad in skimpy red pajamas. They seemed to be shouting prayers up to the giant stone head. A booming voice roared back to them: "I AM ZARDOZ! YOUR PRAYERS HAVE BEEN ANSWERED! YOU MUST KILL IN MY NAME! USE THESE GIFTS TO SACRIFICE ALL WHO LIVE IN LISLE, ILLINOIS!"

Guns and ammo belched forth from the giant stone head, and the crowd went wild. They grabbed everything they could and locked and loaded. From Zim's vantage point it looked like these men were wearing replicas of the stone head as masks.

"Oh fuck," Fitz said. "The Executioners are here. We gotta get going."

"Wait," Zim said, "what? Executioners? You know these guys?"

"They've only been raiding the countryside for as long as we've been alive," Brandon said. "I know you don't pay attention to the news, but Jesus. Zim. What the fuck?"

Zim tried to think of what he could have done in the past to have changed the present so severely, and the only thing he could think of was when he killed Mad Dog DD. Was he really so integral to time? Shooting him in the head was like stepping on a bug. How could he have been so important?

A horse thundered into the parking lot, and Zim paled when he saw it was one of the Executioners. This one was a bit pudgier than the others, and he was definitely hairier. But his mask wasn't on, so it was easy to see that the rider was none other than John Bruni himself. He held the reins of the horse in his teeth, and in one hand he had a Webley revolver, in the other a bottle of Wild Turkey 101.

No, from the crazed look in Bruni's eyes, he was not himself; he was Future Booze Jesus.

"Fitz! Brandon! Zim! We must hurry to the Agriculture Zone before the Executioners slay us! Take to your horses and fly!"

The hordes of Zardoz descended upon our heroes as Zim cursed himself for what he'd done. Now the DeLorean was toast, the device Doc Brown had given Fitz was back in the Old West and there was no way he could go back in time to fix this problem.

And it looked like he wasn't going to get any Tapateos anytime in the future. Which sucked because he was going to take full advantage of saving his friends' lives by having them pay for him.

"Uh, Future Booze Jesus," Fitz said. "We don't have horses."

"Then get in the Falcon and drive!" Future Booze Jesus yelled. "Or we will all die!"

"I hope it starts," Fitz said. "The starter's shot."

Zim gave a tremendous sigh. "Oh ffffffffffffffuck."

CRIS ZIM WILL RETURN IN . . .ESCAPE FROM ZARDOZ!


End file.
